Corner Lurkers
by herownsociety
Summary: Rebel rousers. Troublemakers. Fond of dark corners. As the two oldest of the Weasley/Potter brood, Teddy and Victoire have always been close, but that all becomes rather -err- complicated at the 2014 Quidditch World Cup Final. Especially once Rita's Skeeter's article makes the front page of the Daily Prophet. (Covers the World Cup through Teddy's seventh year.)
1. The Quidditch World Cup

"Are you allowed to talk?" he asked the security wizard who stood guard at the entrance to the tents.

"Yes," replied the wizard, not turning his head to look at Teddy.

"Well, you're doing far better at looking like a muggle than some of the others," he continued.

The security guard smiled, and the bristles of his handlebar mustache ruffled a bit. "You see that fellow over there? In the nightgown?" He nodded his head ever so slightly in the direction an old man gathering water near the Salem Witches Institute tents. "He's had a ministry agent trying to convince him to wear pants for three days now. Said he's worn it to six World Cups and hasn't ever had a muggle look at him funny."

"Bloody Hell," said Teddy, laughing, and though the wizard still hadn't moved, Teddy could hear a low chuckle rolling through his throat. "Maybe not a muggle… Do you mind?" he asked, raising a cigarette to his lips. "My aunt won't let me do it in the tent."

The security wizard shook his head, and Teddy brought a lighter to the end of his cigarette.

"Oi, you see that girl there?" he asked. She was walking through an extensive row of tents; a long sheet of pale blonde hair fell nearly to her waist and swung behind her as she moved. "How old do you think she is?"

The security wizard moved his head minutely. "'Bout sixteen, maybe."

He took a long drag on his cigarette. "Perfect… Reckon she's part veela, by the looks of her," Teddy said, his mouth spreading into a wolfish grin.

"Well, try to contain yourself," the guard teased. "It appears she's coming this way."

She grew prettier the closer she got to them, tall and graceful, her lips full and pouting. When she stopped to speak to the check-in witch just a bit ahead of them, Teddy's grin spread wider.

"Hello there, love," he said, and was pleased when she smiled at him and coyly ran her fingers through her hair.

The check-in witch handed her a map of the tents, and the girl made her way to them.

"You staying here?" he asked her, even more impressed with her up close. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her pale skin was smooth and unblemished.

She looked confused for a moment as she regarded him, and he wondered if she misunderstood him. But her lips—which he rather enjoyed looking at—soon parted to reveal a row of little white teeth as she smiled at him. "Oui," she replied.

"All by your lonesome?" he asked, leaning closer to her.

"No, my family iz coming shortly," she said, although he hardly listened. He much preferred to watch the way her mouth curved around her words. "My brozer became distracted wiz ze souvenir carts along ze way."

"I've got to say, love," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "You look awfully familiar. Have we been out somewhere before?"

Gently, she plucked the cigarette from his mouth and took a drag off it herself, watching him as she released the smoke.

She placed the cigarette back between his lips, and her fingers brushed the sensitive skin. Fuck me, he thought.

"I zink I'd remember a boy wiz blue 'air," she said, and reached up to twirl her finger around a turquoise lock.

"Actually, it's not always blue," he said, and turned the bit of hair around her finger a bright, bubblegum pink.

"Impressionnant," she said with a laugh.

"You like that?" he asked, his arm finding its way to her waist. "You could see more if you let me show you around."

"She doesn't need to be shown around," huffed the check-in witch, clearly exasperated with him. "The Potter/Weasley tent is only just there."

"Weasley?" he asked, immediately dropping his arm from her side. "Weasley? Hold on—"

"Hello Teddy," said Victoire in her usual accent, her eyes bright with laughter.

She walked past him, through the guarded tent entrance, leaving him behind to gape at her.

"Are you related to her?" asked the security wizard.

"No," exclaimed Teddy. "Not—I mean, we're a part of the same family, but we're not—oh, fuck all."

He followed her toward the tents, and as he walked behind her, he watched her hair flash in the sunlight. It skirted her waist, nearly reached her arse—my, my, her arse—no, fuck, don't look at her arse… It is gorgeous, though, looks like—no, stop.

"Why would you bloody do that?" he asked as he caught up to her.

"Serves you right," she said, smiling. "S'not my fault you didn't recognize me."

"Well, you look different, real different," he said defensively, shoving his fists into his pockets.

"Tends to happen when you don't see a person for a few months," she said. "If you'd spent less time on that flying motorbike this summer, and come 'round to the Burrow more often, you might've noticed."

"I'm not going to apologize for spending the summer on my motorbike, for Merlin's sake. Even if it means I—"

She stopped abruptly and Teddy nearly fell into her—he had been so fixed on her that he hadn't noticed they'd reached the tent. She reached out to steady him, catching his arm.

She wrapped hers around his shoulder once he'd righted himself. "You like that?" she asked, mimicking him. "_You could see more if you let me show you around._ That ever worked out for you?"

"Oh, yeah. Loads—especially on my motorbike," he said cheekily. "You'll see."

Her lips parted as she smiled; her eyes bright and daring. "I'm sure," she said, brushing past him as she entered the tent.

He could still feel it even after she'd gone—the warmth of her, the shape of her. He ran a hand through his hair, scratching at the back of his head. "Fuck me," he muttered, smiling wickedly.

"What did you just say?" Ginny asked sternly as she came through the flap of the tent.

"What? Uh, nothing. Oh look, Bill's here," he said quickly before rushing inside.

* * *

"Oh no," Bill said over the music, his shoulders slouching.

"What?" George practically shouted, and Teddy could hardly blame him.

There was quite the reunion going on. If wasn't often that all twenty Weasleys, five Potters, a Lupin (although, honestly, he was an honorary Potter), Lovegood, Scamander, and two Longbottoms got together, let alone in a tent at the World Cup. And to add to the merriment, Harry had invited the Bulgarian Quidditch team over as well—much to Ron's chagrin. Which, altogether, made for quite the raucous party.

"Can you see Victoire?" Bill asked.

"Is she wearing your old earing?" asked Ginny.

George laughed fully. "Looks like you've got your work cut out with that one, mate." He clapped his hand on Bill's back before adding, "Although that Bulgarian bloke seems happy to help."

Teddy looked over and saw Victoire leaning against the kitchen support beam wearing rather tight trousers and a fang dangling from her ear. Her blonde hair brushed over her bare shoulders, and he thought of his lips doing the same.

Apparently, so did the Bulgarian Chaser, who leaned in to whisper in her ear, and lingered a little too long for Teddy's liking.

"Oi, you" Ron called, cupping his hands around his mouth. "You there—Levski—GET. OFF. MY. NIECE."

Levski turned around and looked in their general direction, scanning the crowd for who might've yelled. Clearly not concerned by the great group of gingers watching him from across the room, he turned his attention back to Victoire.

Krum briefly interrupted his conversation with Hermione and Fleur to say in his gruff voice, "He doesn't understand English so well. Just a few words." His eyes narrowed as he took a closer look at him teammate. "How old is that girl?"

"Fourteen," Bill responded tersely.

Krum chuckled. "Oh, you might want to do more than yell at him then. Levski likes blondes."

Teddy couldn't say he blamed the Bulgarian player. He'd been watching her all afternoon, remembering how she felt up against him, the curve of her waist… When he heard her laughter, he knew she'd caught him staring. For a moment he thought to look away, embarrassed—that is, until she winked at him.

"I'll take care of it," Teddy said and started pushing his way through the crowd.

"Teddy," Fred shouted, cutting across Teddy's path with Louis and James at his heel, hardly slowing down long enough to talk. In their arms, they each barely managed to carry several packages of fireworks. "We found Wildfire Whiz-bangs in Dad's trunk. We're going to go set them off in the garden. Want to come?"

"Yeah," said Teddy, eyeing the explosives. "Be there in just a minute… Don't light anything without me."

"Do… you… dance?" he heard Levski ask, leering over Victoire, his arm just above her shoulder.

She laughed lightly. "I'm capable of it, yeah."

"Do you dance like veela?"

"Gunna stop you right there," Teddy said, pushing himself in between Levski and Victoire.

"Hello," said Victoire, her eyes brightening.

"Hi," he said, thoroughly enjoying the nearness of her. He had to remind himself that her father and several uncles were watching. "Some of the little ones have found fireworks—want to come see?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice a low hum. "But first…" she looked over his shoulder to her father, ensuring he wasn't looking, and grabbed Teddy's hand. "Follow me."

She pulled him into the kitchen behind her. He could feel her quickening pulse through her palm.

"Look," she said, a spark in her eye. "The Bulgarian showed me where they keep the Firewhiskey."

Teddy smirked wildly, then attempted to restrain himself. "Victoire… aren't you a little young?"

But she had already poured herself some—quite a lot, actually—before looking up at him. "You want some, yeah?"

I want you, he thought, watching the way the fang that dangled from her ear pulled gently at the thin skin of her neck.

"Yeah," he said, his voice low. "'Course."

She handed him a plastic cup, then looked around the corner. "I think we're clear," she said, grabbing his hand again, and ducked out the back.

"Finally," shouted Fred as they emerged out into the stretch of grass behind the tent. He held a Catherine wheel whiz-bang above his head, while Louis attempted to light the wick with a match.

"Louis," Victoire called, "le moment tomber!"

"No," yelled Louis. "I'll be fine!"

"Let me do it," he said, handing his cup to Victoire. "I'll show you how to do it right."

Teddy took the firework from Fred. "First, you do not—ever—hold them right above your head. It'll set you on fire and then you'll look like this." Slowly, his hair fell away down the center of his scalp, and his skin took on that excruciating appearance of a third degree burn.

"Wicked," whispered Fred.

"No, not wicked. Painful—alright, maybe a little wicked," said Teddy as his hair returned to its typical turquoise. "There's a stand, just there. So all you have to do is pull the chord, and—"

The Catherine wheel shot into the air above them, spitting out sparks the same color as the sun setting behind it. Spinning, twirling and turning, it slowly began to expand.

"Blood hell," breathed James, "do you think it'll explo—"

He was answered rather promptly with a great BOOM and a shower of little glimmering flames.

"I want to set off the dragon next!" he shouted, running toward their pile.

"So," Teddy said, returning to Victoire. "Can you really do the veela dance?"

She took a sip of her Firewhiskey and nodded. "A little…" she smiled shyly. "It's not as strong as it would be if were full veela."

"Merlin's beard," he said. "I'd hope not—wouldn't be able to take you anywhere." A wicked grin stretched wide across his face. "You ever done it for anyone before?"

She took a large gulp from her cup. "Yeah but it was an accident," she said, biting at the edge of her lip. "Do you—do you remember after Gryffindor won the final Quidditch match at the end of last year?"

"How could I forget?" he said, his voice a bit smug. "Best catch of my life—so far."

"Do you remember, when we were celebrating in the Common Room… when Robbie Parker fell through the portrait hole?"

"No," he gasped, his eyes widening. "No, that was—" he roared with laughter. "He nearly broke his arm! Well, fuck all—now you've got to show me."

A sly smile lit her face. "I could do that," she said.

His laughter faltered a little in surprise. He hadn't been serious.

"Really?" he asked quietly.

Her eyes glittered when she spoke. "We'll have to find somewhere a bit darker… but I think you'll stand up better than Robbie."

Teddy wasted no time hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her into the nearest dark corner between the tents. He glanced behind him, and saw Fred, James, and Louis still enraptured with the fireworks.

"You sure?" she asked once they were well hidden.

He nodded, biting at his lower lip. "Yeah," he said, and no sooner did his mind go entirely, blissfully blank.

He could've sworn he heard music, although he knew, vaguely, that there wasn't any. She moved languidly: her hips rolling from one side to the other, her arms writhing above her, fingers playing at hair that moved like silk. The last bit of lingering sunlight outlined her form, bringing to sharp clarity the curve where her narrow waist swelled into hips, the shape of her breasts. He could not remember when she had begun or if she would ever end—until she did.

He dimly registered an unusual warmth on his cheek, and realized, slowly, that it was her hand.

"Teddy," she cooed. "You alright? I stopped about a minute ago."

"Yeah," he breathed, wrapping his hand around her wrist.

A coy smile played at her lips. "Good."

She leaned closer; he could sense the heat of her skin. And then he felt her lips, soft and flush against his. She moved with a teasing fragility, applying only the gentlest of pressure. After no more than a moment, he couldn't stop himself from wanting more—from biting greedily at her bottom lip, from lowering a hand to her waist, tangling another in her hair. He felt her smile into his a kiss, and a high sigh of satisfaction reach her lips.

"Wait," he said, unclear why he withdrew from her. Oh, right. "I'm a bit—nearly a good deal—older than you."

"I know," she hummed, and returned to his lips. "I like it."

"But your parents," he managed between kisses.

"Mum won't care," she whispered with a laugh.

"And your Dad?"

She moved to the thin skin of his neck, biting gently just beneath his ear to the response of a low grunt from Teddy.

"He doesn't have to know," she whispered, her breath stirring the nerves just under his skin.

She leaned into his hips, and nearly giggled at the groan she earned in turn.

"Besides," she teased. "I don't think you could stop if you tried."

Slowly, he ran his hand under shirt, reveling in the way her skin raised in response to his touch.

It was quite a feat to find a table large enough to fit all twenty-six of them—one that, apparently, proved to be impossible, as five tables of varying shape and size had been pushed up against each other in the space just off the kitchen.

* * *

"Gran, is that sausage?" asked Roxanne, her eyes not yet truly open as she shuffled toward the tables.

"And bacon and hashed potatoes and eggs," said Molly.

"Ooo, bacon," said Albus as he walked in behind her.

They had all awoken early in anticipation of the match, the adults finding their way to the kitchen far earlier than the children, who were just now filing in.

"Dominique," said Bill, as he tucked into the table, "Has your sister gotten up yet?"

"She's in the shower," Dominique replied between bites of toast. "A certain someone in the cot above her couldn't wait 'til breakfast and spilled his morning butterbeer on her."

"Hey," said Louis. "You don't know it was me!"

"Who else would be drinking butterbeer in your cot?" asked Dominique, clearly of the opinion that there was no greater git than her little brother.

"There could be a ghoul—"

"In a tent?"

"He and Hugo played Exploding Snaps all night and never once slept," said Rose, sounding very much like her mother, although she had inherited her father's bright red hair. "It's no wonder they were drinking butterbeer to stay awake."

"Bullocks," muttered Ginny as she opened the morning paper, then quickly looked up at her children. "Do not repeat that."

"What's wrong?" asked Molly.

"They printed the gossip column on the front page," she said, discarding it to the table with a look of disgust.

"Dumbledore's Army Reunites at the Quidditch World Cup Final," read Hermione, her own paper in hand. "Isn't that a conflict of interest—to print an article about their own reporter?"

"They relax the rules on Rita, since she's just a gossip columnist," said Ginny with a roll of her eyes.

"That's entirely unethical," responded Hermione indignantly. "Especially if they're going to place it on the front page."

"So long as the Prophet's the most read paper in Britain, it's not likely to change," said Arthur. "Kingsley sure tried."

"What's snogging?" asked Fred.

"S'What we kept catching your Aunt Ginny and Uncle Harry doing before they were married," George said with a devilish grin.

"And a little after they were married too," added Bill, smirking.

In the same moment, Molly asked, "Where did you hear that?"

"S'In the paper, Gran" said Fred, reading from the cast-off first page. "Teddy, what does it mean?"

Teddy glanced over to Harry, who didn't seem too bothered by the conversation to start with. Harry had long been used to Rita Skeeter's articles stirring trouble, and generally made the effort to ignore them.

"Uh, to kiss…" he said, "with a lot of feeling."

"Like with tongue?" asked Fred, a devious thought clearly forming in his eyes.

"Er… yeah, sometimes," said Teddy. "Why are you asking me?"

"'Cos it mentions you."

"What? Let me see," said James, nearly knocking his brother's plate of bacon off the table as he grabbed the paper. His eyes brightened with a troublemaking glee as he began to read, "'No doubt Potter will be distressed to know that his sixteen-year-old godson Teddy Lupin—a lanky half-werewolf—"

"Lycanthropy is not genetic," sighed Hermione. "It is transferred from one infected person to the next through a bite, as it clearly states in Micine's _Lycanthropy and Legend_."

"With bright blue hair," continued James, "has been behaving in a way unbefitting of wizarding royalty since arriving on the VIP campsite. It might be asking too much that the always-busy Potter keep a tighter rein—Merlin, she sounds like a bint—"

"James," Harry quickly cautioned, although it was clear to James that his father and Uncle Ron undoubtedly enjoyed his comment more than they hoped to let on.

"—on this wild boy, who was entrusted to his care by his dying parents, but one shudders to think what will become of Master Lupin without urgent intervention. Meanwhile, Mr and Mrs Bill Weasley might like to know that their beautiful, blonde daughter Victoire seems to be attracted to any dark corner where Master Lupin happens to be lurking. The good news is both of them seem to have invented a method of breathing through their ears—"

"Can you really do that?" asked Louis with great interest.

"Course not," said Teddy, a pink flush rising at his neck. "That's total rubbish."

"Hang on," said James. "Let me finish. 'I can think of no other reason how they have survived such prolonged periods of what, in my young day, was called 'snogging.'"

Fleur looked up from her strawberries and oatmeal to see a faint red hue tingeing the cheeks of her normally cool-mannered husband.

She laughed, and said, "I woz worse at 'er age."

"So you stuck your tongue in Victoire?" Fred asked, an expression of disgust and delight mingling on his face.

"No, of course not!" said Teddy quickly.

"Dominique," said Bill. "Please go get your sister."

"Why does she get to do it?" asked Louis.

"Did you stick anything else in her?" James asked mischievously.

"No!" said Teddy. "Merlin's beard, it's Rita Skeeter!"

"Not even a lip or—" James continued with unstoppable mirth.

"Just remember, little man," Teddy said, cutting over him, "this is your first year at Hogwarts, and I've got the Marauder's Map."

"What's the Marauder's Map?" asked James quickly, turning to his father.

"Keep talking and you may never know," said Teddy.

"Is that why we kept finding your pants in the Hogsmeade shop?" George asked.

When Teddy didn't answer, only smirked proudly, George grinned. "Bravo. Knew it'd be right in your hands."

"What is the Marauder's Map?" James nearly yelled, but wasn't heard over an outburst from the sleeping tent.

"For fuck's sake, Dominique, I'm not going to go out there starkers!" Victoire could be heard shouting. "What is so important that I don't have time to put on knickers?"

Fuck, please don't come out here in your knickers, Teddy thought. It would be near impossible to convincingly say he hadn't snogged her—and would not like to continue snogging her—that, in fact, he would not prefer to be snogging her right at this moment—if he couldn't stop staring at her.

Fortunately, when Victoire stormed into the kitchen, Dominique snickering behind her, she was fully clothed. Although, as he watched the hem of her skirt skim the soft flesh of her lower thigh, it _was_ near impossible not to think of his hand finding its way there.

"Somebody bloody well better have blown up the Quidditch pitch," she said to no one in particular. "Why did Dominique literally just drag me out of the shower?"

"You made the Prophet," said James instantaneously, making no effort to contain his merriment.

"What?" she asked, moving toward him. "Give it here."

"I don't think—" he began, attempting to hide it under the table.

But Victoire was too quick for him. Just as he had started to hide the paper, she reached over and yanked the hem of his shirt over his head and tucked it through his collar.

"I don't see anything but Rita Skeeter's bullocks," she said after grabbing it out of his hand.

"Look at the bottom," came James' muffled voice through his shirt, still every bit as pleased. "She said you and Teddy were snogging."

"What and you lot believed it?" she asked, tossing the paper down on the table.

"Not necessarily," said Bill, eyeing his eldest daughter. She was wearing his old dragon fang earing again. "But you did disappear for quite a while last night…"

"Was she not the same woman who called you a long-haired pillock?" Victoire asked her father, smoothly deflecting his observation.

Molly made quick work of handing her a plate of sausage and hashed potatoes and suddenly her voice was full of sweetness. "Oh, thank you, Nan."

"You're welcome, dear," said Molly warmly, who kept to herself that she saw nothing wrong with Teddy and Victoire finding an interest in each other, and thought it rather fitting that her son with an earing had a daughter just the same.

"Yes," Bill admitted as he watched his daughter take the seat next to Teddy. "So… you're saying you two—" he gestured with his knife and fork between the two of them—" didn't—"

Victoire new it was risky to sit next to Teddy while attempting to convince her father they hadn't snogged. But, she figured, for a bold lie she needed a bold move.

"Obviously not," she said coolly, tossing her silvery blonde hair over her shoulder. "Teddy's a part of the family."

"Alright then," Bill said. Although, truth be told, he was not entirely convinced.

* * *

As Teddy accompanied the Potters to the Quidditch pitch for the final match, it was not the endless stream of witches and wizards—some covered from head to toe in the colors of their team—hurrying with highly infectious excitement toward the stands, or the wizards at souvenir carts shouting their offers in every language—from English to Troll—that enthralled his attention, but the particular way Victoire moved through the crowd just a bit ahead of him. Most notably when she turned rather casually to him over her shoulder, winked, and bobbed into a dark corner just at the start of the stands.

He looked 'round quickly to see if anyone else had spotted her before ducking in himself.

"And the paper said I was the one lurking in dark corners," he said with a shake of his head, and was just able to manage the words before her lips reached his.

He brought his arms around her waist as she leaned against him, absorbing the heat of her. Her fingers trailed over his neck and into his hair, raising the skin that met her touch.

"Don't ever manage to get anything right, do they?" he asked, and at the sight of his self-satisfied smirk, she nipped at his bottom lip.

"I dunno," she said, laughter in her whisper, "I like the sound of a blue-haired wild boy."

"Do you now?" he asked, kissing just beneath her ear. "And you haven't even seen me on my motorbike."

She reached for his chin and brought his mouth to hers again. She was gentle as she kissed, her lips just barely sweeping over his, and he could not place precisely why this spurred him forward more than any other thing she'd done before. It was the briefest of contact, but his nerves jumped at hers, aching when she retreated. And soon his hand was descending from her waist to her hips to her arse.

She grew into his kiss, wrapped herself around him, and her mouth widened to a smile as she felt his reaction.

"Come on," she said, retreating, her mouth just a breath away. "Won't be much of a secret if they notice we're gone."

"I've been known to be quite a lazy secret keeper," he said, pulling her back to him.

She giggled as he kissed around her face. First one cheek, then the other, her forehead, the tip of her nose. He was thrilled by the look of her—her face flushed and her lips swollen. She peaked around his shoulder.

"A few of the little ones are still at that cart," she observed. "We could say we noticed they stopped."

He nodded against her shoulder, her fang earring scratching at his forehead.

"Teddy," she breathed as he kissed along her neck once more.

"Alright, now I'm satisfied," he said. "If we come 'round over there, it'll look like we came down the stairs."

But when they approached Louis, Albus, Roxanne, Fred and Hugo near the cart, Roxanne was not so easily fooled.

"Were you two snogging?" she asked, a miniature Viktor Krum marching around on her shoulder.

"You going to believe Rita Skeeter now too, eh?" asked Teddy.

"No," she said. "But you two just came from over there with a funny look on your face."

Shit, thought Teddy. She had always been clever.

"'Course we have," said Victoire, thinking fast. "That bloke over there's entirely starkers—just got the Brazilian flag painted over his wobbly bits. How else were we supposed to look?"

Roxanne narrowed her eyes, not entirely sure if she believed them, but said, "Alright," then spun around to look at the wizard. "Blimey, what happens when he sits?"

"Uh, why don't we just look in the other direction," said Teddy, turning her away. He'd already been made to tell her brother earlier what snogging meant, he didn't think George would be too thrilled if he had to explain the male anatomy to his daughter.

Trumpets began to blare with great fanfare from highest height of the pitch, and the last stragglers remaining began to storm the stairs.

"Alright, you lot," said Teddy, "you know what that means."

"Time to see Brazil crush Bulgaria!" Albus shouted, hands raised in the air.

"That's right!" called the naked man, and Victoire was glad they were far behind him in the crowd.

They wound their way up the stairs, the throng thinning the higher they climbed.

"Would it have been unreasonable to build a lift?" Hugo asked as they neared the top.

Victoire laughed. "We're nearly there, just one more row."

She wondered if the stadiums were always so posh. The seats, even at the ground, were lined with velvet, and the stairs were covered in a plush purple carpet. Once they reached the private rows, wizards at each level had offered them a gilded program, and when they found the private family box, they were each handed a pair of omnioculars.

She was mildly surprised to see a security wizard standing guard at the door, but she supposed it wasn't often that so many of those who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts socialized publicly together.

"Where's Mum?" Albus asked, taking a seat between James and Lily, notably the only member of his family in Brazilian green.

"Over there in the press box," said James, pointing across the pitch. From their perch above the field, they could just see her red hair next to Rita's blonde.

"Betcha anything Ginny's going to hex Rita Skeeter by the end of the match," said Charlie, his omnioculars on his sister. "They're about to have a row already."

"What are they?" asked Fred, thoroughly impressed, as the mascots took the field.

"They, son," said George, his omnioculars narrowing on them along with Fred's, "are veela."

Victoire burst into laughter as every man in the box beside her father became more than a bit slack jawed at the sight of them. Bill, it seemed, had grown far too used to Fleur to be truly affected by them anymore. A bit of drool was starting to collect on her Uncle Ron's chin, and she noticed her Aunt Hermione give him a quick elbow to the ribs.

"I have seen you on your motorbike, you know," she said quietly to Teddy.

At her words he regained focus, and turned to her. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah, you were at Diagon Alley with some girl."

"You sure it was me?"

"I zink I'd remember a boy wiz blue 'air," she teased.

"Is that what I owe to your current fondness for lurking in corners?" he asked, his hand brushing her knee, and she laughed.

"Although, if I had known that you… that you," he said, faltering. "Uh—"he looked from her face to her chest to her legs—"that, um, you had—"

"Yeah, imagine," she said, her voice a low hum. "We could've been doing this all summer."

His eyes widened minutely, he had not expected her to be so direct. Then, he smiled broadly. "Well, there's still a week 'til the start of term."

"Look at them," shouted Lily in delight when the Curupiras took the field. They tumbled forward from a large pyramid, stealing hats from the crowd nearby before launching one another into the air yet again.

Bill looked over to his daughter and noticed a familiar look in her eye. It reminded him of her mother, of time spent giving her English lessons while they were still dating. She'd always have that look, right before she—oh, no.

"Victoire, trade seats with me," he said, quickly rising to his feet.

"Why?" she asked, readily defiant. "Is it because of what Rita Skeeter wrote?"

"Maybe," he said, inching toward them. Though the way they sat together hardly worked to dispel Rita's article—each bent toward the other, Teddy with his hand nearly on her bare knee, Victoire with her ankle linked around his.

"So I can't sit next to Teddy because some binty old slag—"

"Victoire," he said, caution flashing across his scarred face. "You'll still be sitting near him, I'll just be in between you. It's alright with Teddy, isn't it?"

Teddy's face went blank, and his hair started to turn pink at the roots. "Uh, yeah—um, yes, yes, it is."

Victoire sunk sulkily into her new seat, propping her feet on the railing before them, her skirt rising slightly up her thigh. Teddy pretended not to notice.

"What N.E.W.T.s are you taking?" she asked him.

"Victoire, you can ask him what classes he's taking later," said Bill. "Do you see the players? They're about to kick off."

"Yeah, I see them," she said, casting a cursory glance toward the pitch.

"Yes!" said Neville, jumping to his feet as the players rose in the air. "Do you see Krum? He's already looking for the snitch."

"Potions, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Teddy. "But I'm thinking of dropping Herbology, it's getting a bit boring—"

"Herbology isn't boring," said Victoire, now sitting up.

"Here, here," cheered Neville. "Remind me to award you ten point when we return to Hogwarts, Victoire."

"See," she said, smiling. "And you can't possibly hope to master a potion without a solid foundation in Herbology." She was leaning over her father's armrest now as she spoke to Teddy. "If you don't fully understand the properties of your ingredients, you might as well be boiling water."

Teddy chuckled. "Alright, maybe I'll reconsider."

"You really ought to," she said, her enthusiasm unwavering. "Plus, if you ask nicely, Professor Longbottom will let you have a go at the Venomous Tentacula."

Nearly forty minutes passed before either one even so much as glanced at the pitch. And when they did it was only due to Gonçalo Flores flying so close to their box that Albus, hardly more than a green streak of exhilaration, had rushed forward to cheer him on, nearly tumbling over the railing. But when they saw Ron reach forward and pull him back by his collar, their attention returned to each other. Bill sat between them, wondering if it was having a greater affect on him than his daughter. Actually, as he looked between the two of them, he was certain it was.

It had started shortly before the family had visited Fleur's parents in France in the early summer—the boys. Men too, he noticed, were paying attention to her in ways that seemed excessive. When Fleur's father saw him redden and nearly stun a boy that had begun to follow her—a dazed look in his eye—while they were in a nearby village, he had laughed. _Ah, _he said_, eet iz always 'ard to see others fall for ze charms of our daughters zat we found in zeir mozer. _He saw that this had been no help to Bill, and continued, _Youth! Love, pain, lust, eet iz all ze same at zeir age. But soon zey will discovair ze difference, and zen it will be eazier to be ze fazer._

He looked over to Fleur, who was watching the game with mild interest, nodding when Louis nearly roared at a well-struck bludger by the Bulgarians. She was not the least bit concerned over their daughter, and her reminders that she had been quite a bit wilder hardly helped.

"And the snitch has been sighted," bellowed Lee Jordan, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

"Oi, you two," said George, leaning over the seat back toward Victoire. "Why don't you take advantage of this dark corner and trade seats with me and Roxanne."

"We're watching," said Victoire, although her smile indicated she was quite thrilled at the idea of not sitting next to her father any longer.

"Yes, you're doing a fine job of watching each other," George said as he climbed into their row.

* * *

The campsite was ablaze with revelry, and the raucous cheers were only rivaled by those coming from James Potter within the family tent.

"And when he dove for the snitch!" shouted James, launching himself from a side table and onto the couch. "Did you see him? Did you see him?"

"Yes, James," said a tired Dominique, who has following Fred's lead and heading off to bed. "We saw him."

"And we saw him when you replayed it for us on your omnioculars," said Rose, who was leaving along with Dominique.

"And when you reenacted it for us after dinner," called Albus from the sleeping tent.

"It nearly looked like Silva was going to beat him to it, but never doubt Krum!" he said, rolling off the couch and onto the floor. "Never doubt Krum!"

He jumped back up to the side table and was mid-leap when a blast of blue light caught him and slowly returned his feet to the ground.

"Bed," said Ginny, and James knew well enough not to challenge the look in her eye.

She settled into the couch once she heard his footsteps receding, the evening Prophet in her hands.

"I think we ought to frame this," said Harry, who was reading his own copy. "You jinxing Rita is probably the best thing the Prophet will ever print."

"I do wish they hadn't printed our commentary simultaneously," she said. "But, we'll just cut that part out."

She waved her wand, and Rita Skeeter's bits were snipped away and fell to the floor.

"Although," George said with a troublemaking smirk, "some of her coverage of Teddy and Victoire was not entirely untruthful."

Harry shook his head, chuckling. "No, it wasn't."

"And do you think that's appropriate?" Bill asked, Fleur tucked under his arm, reading her French newspaper.

"Are you going to start writing reports on proper cauldron thickness now?" asked George. "You're beginning to sound like Percy."

"You wait until Roxanne turns fourteen," Bill said to George.

"Eez eet really a problem, mon cher?" Fleur asked, tilting her head to look at him.

She smiled, her eyes meeting his, and he softened. He began to play at the ends of her hair, awed by how lovely she was.

He beamed dreamily, wanting to give her what she wanted. "I suppose no—Fleur! No, she's too young!"

He looked around the room and saw only Harry not grinning or sniggering at him. "Harry, I'm sure, as Teddy's godfather, you'd agree this is a bit excessive for their age."

Smiling wryly, Harry said, "When I was fourteen Voldemort rigged an inter-scholarly competition to kidnap me, steal my blood, and use it to come back from the dead. I don't think mine is quite the childhood we should be using to decide what's normal. But, at sixteen, was I tucking off to dark places to snog my girlfriend?" He glanced over at Ginny, his smile broadening. "Yeah, s'much as I could."

"Don't think I haven't forgotten that," said Ron, his eyes brows raised.

Ginny's chucked a pillow at him. "_We_ had to survive your Lavender phase. Never seen so much spit passed between two people in my life." But then her brow furrowed slightly as a thought dawned on her. "He has been fairly reckless this summer—"

"His Gran only died in April," said Harry. "S'long as he and his mates don't skip out on Hogwarts to kill a dark wizard, he's a far sight ahead of me."

They heard a great BOOM thunder not far from the tent, then another, and a third in quick succession.

"You think it's the Bulgarians?" asked Ron.

"Sounds like one of our whiz-bangs," said George, rising to his feet to draw open the tent flap.

As soon as the canvas parted, he began to roar with laughter.

"That's Rita's tent," said Ginny, recognizing the gaudy turrets that were currently threatened by fireworks at the perimeter of the guarded tents.

It only took one more before the tent itself was blown skyward, revealing Rita Skeeter sitting rather close on a loveseat to the Bulgarian coach, who appeared extremely alarmed at their sudden loss of roof.

Victoire and Teddy were now running with great speed toward their tent, stopping every few paces to double over with uproarious laughter.

"No," said Harry, now standing next to George. "You don't think they—"

But before he could finish, a giant whiz-bang in the shape of a W launched itself into the air, its orange and gold sparks glittering against the night sky. Victoire shot up, cheering at the letter, her hair flying out around her and her eyes bright with life. Teddy watched her, as thrilled by her as she was by the firework. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and she turned to him, still laughing and breathless from running. She brought her arms around his neck and rose onto her toes with such familiarity that Harry was sure this was not the first time they kissed.

"Not snogging, my arse," muttered Bill darkly.

Victoire twirled around, giggling as she broke away from his kiss, and spun him with her before running off toward the tent again, his hand in hers.

"Wait 'til we tell Fred and James," Harry heard her say.

"Best not to give them any ideas," he called in return. He'd prefer to keep his roof firmly attached to his home.

"Or, at least wait 'til they're at Hogwarts," said George. "Think it'd be a nice trip down memory lane for McGonagall."

Teddy's face paled at the sight of them, and he dropped Victoire's hand. He supposed there was no chance of lying now, no matter how lazy it may be.

"What," asked Bill, "is that?"

He gestured to the W still sparkling in the sky, and Victoire gave a non-committal shrug.

"'S'a firework," she said, ducking past her father and into the tent.

"Not snogging her, eh?" asked George with a wink before Teddy could follow her and Bill inside. "Expected you to be a bit slicker than that."

"Well, she was the one doing all the lurking," he said, grinning.

But his grin soon fell when he entered the tent.

"She invaded my privacy, so I invaded hers," Victoire said proudly, casting her silver-blonde hair off her shoulder.

Teddy watched as her fang earing moved in her hair, unraveling where he had tangled it when they kissed.

"It's not like it can't be righted," she continued, face to face with her father in the center of the room, his head nearly reaching the canvas top. "We only blew it off the pegs."

"That's not the point," said Bill, a red flush mingling with his scars. "Someone could've gotten hurt—_you_ could've gotten hurt—the tent could've caught fire—"

"I cast a flame-retardant charm before—"

"You used magic out of school?" asked Bill, nearly shouting. "With all the ministry officials here?"

"They're not going to be able to track it," she said, her voice thick with defiance.

Even with the great big W hanging over the tent, she was so confident Teddy was inclined to believe her. He supposed he'd never seen her angry before. Oh, sure, he'd seen her pissed, and it wasn't unlikely that it was a result of his doing, but now, as he watched her argue—and rather impressively stand her ground—he swore her bones were sharper, her blue eyes fiercer, and her form move with a greater grace. This Victoire was new to him.

His eyes trailed her hair as it swung around her waist. He thought of how soft she was and nearly reached out to touch her.

"Not able to track it?" asked Bill, his voice thick with incredulous sarcasm. "You set off _Weasley's_ Wizardng Whiz-bangs and the last one was a massive _W_!" His eyes shifted from Victoire to Teddy, then back again, and Teddy had been on the receiving end of that look enough to know what was coming. "You two—whatever you are or aren't doing—you're going to stop."

"What?" snapped Victoire, her eyes narrowing on her father. "That's bullocks, Teddy's family, I'm not going to stop talking to him—"

"Then you can treat each other like _family_," he said firmly. "But this—" he gestured between the two of them, noticing how Victoire leaned inconspicuously against Teddy—"stops now."

This was hardly the first time Teddy had been told by a father to stop snogging his daughter. And, he had found that this wasn't a terribly difficult threat to work around, especially once they were at Hogwarts—they'd just have to be more careful with which broom cupboard they chose—or, if it was a night when he had prefect duties, they were blissfully in the clear. But there was something about Bill that made him take the demand more seriously. Perhaps it was because, in many ways, they _were_ family, and this was not some random bloke he'd likely never see again, but one of his many would-be uncles.

He retreated from Victoire, ready to respect Bill's request, and saw Bill's shoulder's relax.

But it seemed his daughter had other things in mind. Victoire laughed fully, entirely unconcerned by what Bill had just asked of them.

Fleur, who was considerably better at reading Victoire, stepped closer to her husband. She recognized the attitude her daughter possessed while tossing her hair to one side, the darkening look in her eyes, and the particular way her mouth rounded into a smirk. "Weelleam, perhaps you've been too strong—"

Fuck, thought Teddy. He'd forgotten that cutting streak of hers—although, it hardly did anything to discourage his attraction toward her, as he still found himself watching the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. If anything, he thought, and had to keep himself from leering, it attracted him further.

"No, Maman," Victoire said, laughter still on her lips. "Not at all."

But there was no mirth in her eyes, only daring, and it was clear to Bill he had not won this round. She looked between her parents, her eyes settling on her father. "I'm going to bed."

Teddy followed her out of the room, not wanting to linger. Briefly, he looked to Harry, who merely shrugged, and Teddy knew that his godfather was not at all bothered by his interest in Victoire.

As they passed into the next tent, she turned on her heels, his hair brushing his skin as she spun.

"You were awfully quiet in there," she whispered darkly.

In the dim light he could see the fierce expression had not yet left her eyes. "Um… yeah, your Dad was pretty clear—"

"And that's alright with you?" she asked, a little distance creeping in her voice.

Teddy scratched at the back of his head. He was pretty sure there wasn't any right way of answering that. "Well, he's your Dad, and he's sort of my family too, and you are a bit young."

"I'm fourteen," she said stubbornly.

"You only just turned fourteen in May," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"And you only turned sixteen in April."

"But that's still two years."

He looked down at his shoes, or pretended to, really—it was too dark for him to see them. But if he looked at her, he may admit that two years hardly seemed like any time at all when they were snogging… or dancing… or talking.

"Didn't seem like very much when I got here yesterday," she muttered.

He couldn't think of what to say to that, but she was already walking into the sleeping tent by the time he realized he ought to.


	2. Sixth Year: Part One

"I have been waiting for this moment for three years," said Michael, almost hanging out the window of their train compartment.

Teddy laughed as he threw himself into the seat across from Michael. The two had been friends since they were first years and sorted into Gryffindor together. He had been the first person Teddy had learned to morph into, and they still used this trick if they found themselves in a sticky spot.

Their compartment door slid open, and Teddy looked up to see his friend Kieran grinning wolfishly toward the window as well.

"I take it you've seen her then," said Kieran, stowing his Hogwarts robes in the rack above them.

"I was always right pissed that there weren't any Gryffindor girls in our year," said Michael. "But this makes up for it."

War babies, all three of them. Apparently, many in the wizarding world had not felt that 1998, with Voldemort at the height of his power, was the greatest time to have a child. As a result, they were the smallest Hogwarts class in the history of the school, with only four girls among them—two in Ravenclaw, one Slytherin, one Hufflepuff, and not a Gryffindor to be sorted.

"S'not like the fifth year girls are anything to slouch at," said Kieran, taking a seat beside Michael.

"Yeah," Michael agreed, "but you can't beat a Veela."

Kieran turned to Teddy. "Well, she's not all Veela is she?"

A fit of nerves swooped through his stomach as Teddy realized whom they were talking about. And if his two best mates were reacting like this in front of him, he could only imagine the reactions the rest of the train was exhibiting.

"Uh, no," said Teddy. "Only part—one-eighth, I think it'd be."

"That's enough for my taste," said Kieran grinning, still looking out the window with Michael.

"She's fourteen," said Teddy, growing more than a little protective.

"Yeah, but she sure doesn't look like she's fourteen, does she?" said Michael. "Or, fuck me, walk like she's fourteen. She could easily pass for a sixth year."

"But we don't need to tell Teddy this, do we Michael?" said Kieran, a troublemaking gleam in his green eyes. "From what I read in the Prophet last week, you know better than anyone how much she's grown."

He still felt quite protective of her but couldn't stop the grin that stretched across his face. "You know Rita Skeeter, it's all rubbish."

"Bullocks, look at your face," said Kieran, laughing. "You can't hide it."

"Were you the one who blew up Rita Skeeter's tent?" asked Michael. The shrill whistle of the steam engine sounded, and he turned back to his seat.

The train wheels could soon be heard rolling against the tracks, and King's Cross slowly began to recede from them.

"It didn't get blown up, just blown away," said Teddy, smirking. "But that was… that was all Victoire."

"Merlin," chuckled Kieran. "Remind me not to fuck with her."

That shouldn't be hard, thought Teddy. He didn't like the thought of anyone fucking her—except for him, maybe.

"So are you two together?" Michael asked, the English countryside within view through the window beside him. "Or are you just snogging?"

"Er, we're not anything," Teddy said reluctantly. "Her Dad told us we couldn't—"

"Since when has that stopped you before?" asked Kieran.

"Since she got pissed at me later for not telling him to fuck off," said Teddy.

Kieran and Michael nodded in understanding.

"Birds," said Michael, shaking his head. "…So, does that mean she's available?"

Teddy threw a chocolate frog box at his head. "Not to the two of you."

Kieran laughed heartily. "So you like her, then? Oh, mate, are you fucked."

"Yeah, well," said Teddy, "I've got prefects rounds to do."

"If it's any consolation, mate, my mum thought the article was rubbish," said Michael. "Didn't believe that nice boy who came 'round for tea would be snogging girls in dark corners."

"I'll be sure to tell Harry I've got your Mum's approval," Teddy said, smiling as he left.

* * *

He had nearly walked the entire length of the train, spotting Fred and James happily loading their pockets at the food trolley. He noticed that people—well, boys in particular—were taking their time walking past a certain compartment, and wondered what was going on inside. The closer he got, the more comments like, "She got fit quick, didn't she?" reached his ears, and he started to suspect why they were all attempting to linger casually near the door.

They scattered fairly quickly when he approached. "It's her boyfriend," one of them muttered, and he didn't feel it was necessary to correct them, even if it wasn't really true.

When he slid open the compartment door, he was pleased to see only Victoire's friend Adelaide there with her. He was half expecting to find even more boys within.

The girls were sitting side by side, deep in conversation, and Teddy wondered if either of them would have even noticed him at all if the door hadn't slid shut so abruptly.

"Yes?" Victoire asked coolly, her mouth set in a pout.

Adelaide looked him up, from his feet to his hair, a curious look in her eyes. She turned to Victoire and leaned closer to her, "really? Not even once?"

"Yes," Victoire said quickly, but a fit of giggles threatened to escape at the look she received from Adelaide. "Hush."

He was about to ask what had not happened 'even once' that would cause Adelaide to watch him in such a peculiar manner, but he noticed Victoire had woven small braids throughout her wavy hair, and it reminded Teddy of the look she had about her when they had set off the fireworks in Rita Skeeter's tent—bright, and wild, and warm—she was unstoppable.

"Are you trying to cause a riot?" he teased, gesturing toward the window within the compartment door where more than a few lingerers had returned.

"You found me out," she said sarcastically, her voice flat. "You going give me detention for it?"

He shook his head and raised his hands slightly in the air. "Just wanted to see if you were alright."

"I'm fine," she snapped, tucking her legs underneath her.

He supposed he should have known she'd still be angry with him after she hadn't returned his letter, but he was so accustomed to seeing her smile, to the lively way she usually greeted him, that he was a little thrown.

"How long are you going to be cross with me, Victoire?"

She shrugged, casting off his question. "How long are you going to be a coward?"

"I'm not being cowardly," he said, frustrated with her. "Your Dad—"

"Is 900 kilometers away," she cut in.

"That doesn't mean he's wrong," said Teddy reluctantly, his words coming out slowly.

A curious look flashed quickly across Victoire's face. "So it's my age that makes you uncomfortable then, not my Dad?"

He tried to read her, to puzzle out the mischief that was growing behind her carefully arranged expression, as her question sounded a little like a trap. Finally, he said, "Well, yeah…"

"What are you doing?" he could hear James shout in the corridor. "That's my cousin in there."

"Fuck off, first year," said Robbie Parker snidely.

"Slugulus Eructo," said Fred, and it was only a moment before Robbie's shoes were covered in puked-up slugs.

"Aren't you going to intervene?" Victoire asked Teddy, looking briefly at his Prefect's badge.

Teddy shook his head. "Nah," he said and could hear Robbie heaving in the background. "I think they can handle themselves."

But Robbie disagreed.

"Oi, Teddy," he shouted, throwing open the compartment door. "Are you a prefect or what?"

Grudgingly, Teddy stepped out into the corridor, careful not to step in slugs.

"Well, I can't deduct house points," Teddy could be heard saying before the door slid shut behind him. "They haven't even been sorted yet."

"Interesting," said Adelaide as soon as the door was fastened. "Are you sure you didn't fuck?"

Victoire giggled instantly. Adelaide was a year ahead of her, and never one to hold her tongue. Which is why she and Victoire got on so well, as only someone bolder than she was could truly befriend Victoire.

A slight blush crept up her cheeks. "I'm positive."

"You're probably the first, then," she said, and when Victoire appeared more than a little confused, she continued. "He's got quite the reputation, you know. Snuck girls out to your Uncles' joke shop in Hogsmeade all the time last year, or to a broom closet, or a—"

"Have you ever been in a broom closet with him?" Victoire asked, suddenly feeling small. Adelaide was rather pretty, with her long brown hair and hazel eyes, and Teddy wouldn't have been the first to catch her attention in such a way.

"Nah," Adelaide said, smiling. "I had a feeling you two'd be a thing. But girls talk."

"Well," Victoire said quietly, "what do they say?"

Adelaide laughed as her friend's cheeks continued to redden. "Don't worry, nothing bad. Actually, he's apparently rather good, especially with his tongue. But I'm sure you already knew that."

Victoire nearly cackled at the thought of how pink Teddy's hair would turn if he found out that she'd heard this about him. She shook her head at Adelaide's assumption. "We only ever kissed, really. And it was only when we were at the World Cup. I hadn't even seen him over the summer before that."

"You only snogged? With Teddy Lupin?" Adelaide asked. "You must really make him nervous."

Victoire fussed at one of the braids in her hair. "Why would I make him nervous?"

"You could get him into trouble," said Adelaide, tossing a cherry Bertie Bott's Every Flavored bean into her mouth.

Victoire rolled her eyes. "Teddy's used to getting in trouble."

"Not the kind of trouble he could get into with you."

* * *

The Great Hall was decorated in its usual splendor for the start of term feast. Golden plates and goblets glittered on each table, reflecting the light of the hundreds of candles that floated in the bewitched night sky above them. It was not long after the older students had climbed up the grand marble staircase and settled into their seats at the long house tables that filled the Great Hall that Professor Longbottom, Deputy Headmaster and head of Gryffindor House lead in the first years.

Headmistress McGonagall spotted two first years in particular, Fred Weasley and James Potter, talking conspiratorially from her seat at the center staff table.

"Filius," she said to Professor Flitwick, who was seated at her left. "After the dinner, would you mind adding an additional anti-jinx charm to the corridors?"

"Of course, Headmistress," said Flitwick. "But may I ask why?"

"Do you recognize any of the children in first year?" asked Professor McGonagall.

Flitwick looked out into the crowd of students, and soon found James Potter and Fred Weasley, who were pointing curiously at a suit of armor.

"Both of them? At the same time," mused Flitwick. The suit of armor the boys had been looking at belched very suddenly, and Flitwick said, "Merlin's beard, I'll add _several_ additional protections."

Victoire laughed proudly at her cousins. She had looked forward to their joining her at Hogwarts. It had always felt odd to be here without the little ones. Over the holidays, there was rarely a day that went by when they weren't all at the Burrow—their parents would drop each one of Molly's twelve grandchildren off with her via the Floo Network on their way into work. She was used to being one of the twelve, and it was terribly quiet at Hogwarts without them. Sure, Teddy was here, and so was Dominique, but she was off in Ravenclaw, and there was only one of Teddy.

Speaking of which… She looked over to Teddy, who was seated a few seats down on the opposite side of the table, unsure if she was mad at him any longer. The pink flush that crossed his cheeks when he noticed her staring certainly helped ebb at her indecision.

"You sure you're not together?" Michael muttered to Teddy after he noticed Victoire's stare.

She hadn't yet looked away, despite Teddy catching her. There was a hint of amusement in her eyes now, and he realized she was daring him to look away first.

"Thing is," he said quietly, still maintaining eye contact with her, "you can't… do a lot with a fourteen-year-old, at least not—"

"Oh, there's plenty I'd like to do with her," said Kieran, winking at her.

Teddy's head snapped in the direction of his friend, and he heard Victoire laugh fully.

"Don't you—" Teddy began to growl.

"I know, Ted. I won't touch her," said Kieran before he could finish the threat. "Wouldn't dream of it. Well, maybe I'd dream a little…" Teddy gave him a swift kick to shins beneath the table. "Joking, only joking."

The Gryffindor table burst into applause, and Victoire emitted a loud, guttural "yeah!" as James Potter was sorted into Gryffindor.

Teddy cheered rowdily when James took the seat next to Victoire. There were thirteen more students sorted before Teddy saw Fred's auburn afro at the front of the crowd.

"Fred Weasley," called Professor Longbottom, smiling when Fred stepped forward.

"Woo," cheered Victoire before the Sorting Hat even so much as brushed his head.

Professor Longbottom chuckled as he lowered the hat onto Fred's head, and it was only a moment before the hat shouted gruffly, "Gryffindor!"

* * *

September had passed with remarkable speed. As did most of October, while time was at it. Teddy had taken to avoiding Victoire when he could. She had grown so confusing—angry and flirtatious with him at the same turn. He was never sure what side of her he'd see. Plus, there was usually another guy around. She wasn't very likely to pay attention to them, but they made it difficult, nevertheless, for things to return to normal. Although, he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted that to happen.

Teddy eyed the Marauder's Map as he made his rounds of the corridors. He didn't think it was cheating, per se, to sit and watch the halls on the map instead of wandering them. And he had stationed himself between the library and the third floor corridor where most curfew-breaking ensued, anyway.

"I thought you would have learned by now not to lurk in dark corners," said a low voice behind him.

He turned around to see Victoire standing not far from him, a bag full of library books slung over her shoulder.

Alright, so maybe he hadn't been avoiding her, as much as watching her from a distance. She had caught on pretty quickly too, breaking curfew on the nights he had Prefect's duties. More often than not, she'd be studying in the library—a fairly innocent excuse, should she get caught.

She was smirking at him, and he couldn't quite stop himself from leering in return. He leaned back against the cold, stone wall, watching her. His eyes caught at the hem of her skirt. Somewhere in his mind, he knew it was the same length as the skirts all the other girls wore, but on her it seemed to provoke him, to remind him of the brief moment his hand had found its way their.

She stepped closer to him, and reached forward to loosen his tie. "If you're not careful," she said, her voice a low, laughing hum, "you might find yourself in the paper again, wild boy."

Fuck. She had definitely grown more confident with all the attention. Not thinking, he brought an arm lazily around her waist, and she settled against him, her legs between his, her hands still against his chest.

His mind went blank at the nearness of her, and his hand found its way to her hair. He wrapped a strand around his finger, and all he could think was: soft.

"You're breaking curfew," he blurted, attempting to recover himself.

"Mhmm." She was so close to him, her lips not far from his.

"I should give you detention," he said under his breath.

"Yeah, you should." She watched him, mischief in her eyes. "But you're not going to."

He shook his head numbly, he hardly felt like he had any control of himself at all.

"You could kiss me, you know." She smirked, and her tongue ran over her bottom lip.

He could. He'd barely have to move. If anyone came across them now, they'd assume they'd been snogging, anyway. He wanted to—Merlin, he wanted to draw her in 'til he could feel the curve of her form against his, run his hand under her skirt, feel the heat rise to her skin, and kiss, nip, tease until she breathed his name.

And he could do it. She was standing there, just a breath away, wanting him.

She leaned nearer 'til her mouth was at his ear. "But you're not going to."

He lowered his hand from her waist to her arse, drew closer to her sweet, mocking mouth… until he remembered himself. He dropped his hand and stood up straighter, attempting to create any semblance of space between them.

"You're dangerous," he said in heady whisper.

"Maybe," she said coyly, and took a step back. "Although if you're interested in finding some real troublemakers, you may want to take a look around for Fred and James."

Teddy's brow furrowed. He hadn't thought to look for them on the map. They had been exceptionally well behaved since they arrived at Hogwarts—oh, no.

"Why?" he asked. "What are they up to?"

She turned around as she walked away, beaming. "You'll see."

He scratched at the back of his head. "Are you a part of it?"

She winked. "Only a little."

* * *

**Hello all! I wanted to say thank you to those who reviewed the first chapter! It was really lovely to see the encouragement. I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the first, but Teddy's sixth year is growing so long I thought it'd be more reader friendly to break it up into parts. Thanks for reading!**


	3. Sixth Year: Part Two

Halloween always began with a spark of excitement at Hogwarts. They awoke to the smell of baked pumpkins wafting up from the kitchens, live bats fluttering from the ceiling of the Great Hall, and Turkish lanterns twinkling along the halls. And, as they grew older, the promise of a party.

This year, it began with a bang. Several, in fact, as the halls were filled with the inky, dark smoke of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. They had been going off all morning—once every hour since six a.m.—making the corridors impossible to navigate.

"Students," rang Professor McGonagall's voice from the fireplaces in each Common Room. Her face was a relief of embers in the fire, and, despite the crackling flames distorting her features, she was clearly irritated. "As I'm sure you've noticed, the school corridors have been overtaken by Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. I will remind you that this is one of the seventy-seven banned items from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Anyone found with these items will see them swiftly confiscated and face several weeks of detention. Those responsible for today will see far worse." A shiver passed through Teddy at the sound of that. "Classes will be canceled until the halls are evaporated of darkness powder—"

Cheers erupted across Hogwarts, most notably in the Gryffindor Common Room, and McGonagall cleared her throat. "I encourage you all to use this time wisely, and remind you that today's classes will be made up later in the term."

When she vanished from the fireplace, the celebration increased ten-fold.

"You know what that means," Kieran said wickedly, standing beside Teddy.

"The party starts early," crowed Michael to shouts of encouragement from the students around him.

Teddy's mind jumped to Victoire, her hinting earlier in the week that Fred and James were up to something. He sought the three of them out in the crowd, and found them smirking unabashedly near the Portrait hole.

"I take it we have the three of you to thank for this," he said when he reached them.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Ted," Victoire said coquettishly. "This is advanced stuff—must've been a seventh year."

Teddy raised an eyebrow and her smile broadened.

"'Course it was us," Fred admitted proudly, although he minded the volume of his voice. "We've been working on it since the World Cup."

"Is that what nearly went off in your trunk?" Teddy asked James, remembering how James' trunk had rumbled from the boot of Harry's car the entire way to King's Cross.

"Yup," said James, pleased with himself.

"How long did it take you to set up?" Teddy asked.

"Just last night," said Fred, grinning.

Teddy's brow furrowed in disbelief. Last night had been Head Boy Andrew Davies' turn to run patrols, and Teddy knew from being caught in a broom cupboard a few times that Davies was near impossible to work around.

"How did you get by Davies?" he asked, keen to know the answer.

James and Fred exchanged a measured glance.

"We weren't too happy with our method," said Fred. "But it proved to be the most effective."

"It hadn't been our first choice, either" added James. "But our first method fell through, so we had to request back up."

"And who was back up?" Teddy asked, amused, his head titled to the side.

"Me, of course," said Victoire playfully, her eyes on his.

"And how did you manage to keep Davies off them?" he asked.

"Well," she said, her voice lower. "He was quite distracted… Turns out, he's pretty fond of lurking in corners too."

A pang of jealousy hit Teddy, and a dark look crossed his eyes. Merlin, this year would be difficult.

Fred wrinkled his nose. "Wait, you snogged him too? We didn't want you to do that!"

Victoire laughed, and her blonde hair fell over her shoulder, catching the sun. "Contrary to my reputation, no, I didn't snog him. Only danced."

"And dancing distracted him for that long?" James asked, befuddled and displeased with the idea.

"It does when you're part Veela," said Teddy, his eyes still locked on hers.

"I only danced for a little while," she said, and his eyes narrowed. "After that, he just wanted to show me all his Quidditch awards in the Trophy Room."

"How did that take up six hours?" Fred asked.

Victoire rolled her eyes. "He really likes to talk about Quidditch."

"Oi, Teddy!" Kieran called from the staircase to the boy's dormitory, a case of records in his hands and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. "Get over here!"

Teddy grinned. "Well, if this is your first prank, I can't wait to see what else you get up to."

"Oh, we've got plans," said Fred, casting a conspiratorial smirk at James.

"Loads," agreed James.

"Good," Teddy chuckled, then turned and walked toward Kieran.

"Hold on, are those my records?" he called raucously to his friend.

"Yeah, mate," called Kieran in return. "You've got the best ones."

Teddy shrugged. He couldn't question that logic.

"Alright then," he said, grinning at his records. "We'll start with The Weird Sisters and work our way toward The Bent Winged Snitches!"

By the time they reached The Bent Winged Snitches, much of the younger students had drifted up to bed. The last remains of dinner—which, remarkably, materialized just as naturally as it did in the Great Hall—littered the tables. As the moon rose in the sky beyond the windows of Gryffindor Tower, the stuffed, red armchairs had been pushed against the walls to create space for dancing, and drinks considerably stronger than pumpkin juice were passed around.

"Do you have their newest album?" Victoire asked, breathless.

She peeled away from her dance partner—a rather forlorn seventh year whose name Teddy didn't care to remember—and made her way to him. He leaned against one of the tables, drinking Firewhiskey with Michael. She rested beside him, settling her hand near his.

"S'not been released yet," said Teddy, shaking his head.

Gently, she edged her hand along the table and ran her pinky over his knuckles. He was surprised by the sweetness of it. His arm brushed against her as he watched her ring finger join her pinky, tracing small circles over the back of his hand. His attention was caught by her shoulders—bare again. She had discarded her jumper long ago, warm from dancing, and was now wearing only a camisole.

"Not to everyone," Victoire smirked. "But Aunt Ginny may have been able to persuade them to part with a copy for me when she interviewed them."

At Teddy's gob smacked face, she laughed. "She said she knew what it was like to grow up with all these protective boys around trying to interfere in your love life. And that I deserved it for blowing up Rita Skeeter's tent… I'll go get it."

She headed off toward the girl's dormitory and he was nearly inclined to follow her. The back of his hand tingled where she'd been. Fortunately, it wasn't long before she was downstairs again.

"Merlin's beard," said Teddy as she passed the record to him. He flipped it over in his hands.

"I think it's their best album so far," she said smiling.

Teddy looked at her as if she'd grown two heads. "It's not possible to beat their first."

She plucked the record from his fingers and released it from its sleeve.

"Well see, then," she said mischievously, placing it on the player, and dropping the needle.

An aggressive, riotous guitar immediately split through the room, and a spark stirred those still left in the Common Room.

"The first song's my favorite," she said, already moving to it. She smiled broadly, an idea blooming in her eyes. "Do you want to dance with me, Teddy?"

Yes. "Um, I don't think I should," he said begrudgingly, already bewitched by the movement of her hips.

"Because you think I'm too young," she said teasingly.

Teddy nodded.

"Michael doesn't think I'm too young," she said wickedly, turning to his friend. "Do you, Michael?"

Michael's eyes widened, and Teddy laughed—he almost pitied him, he'd never been under the influence of Victoire's determination. "Uh—no, no. Not too young."

She beamed before turning over her shoulder and calling into the crowd. "Kieran, am I too young to dance with Teddy?"

"Fuck no," Kieran shouted encouragingly, his eyes fixed on Adelaide, moving as her hips rotated against him.

Adelaide gave her a sly look at which Victoire laughed, and Teddy was unsure what had just passed between the two friends.

"It seems you're outnumbered," she said, reaching for Teddy's hand. She turned, bringing his arm around her shoulder, pulling him slightly toward the other dancers.

For a moment, he followed her, and brought his hand up to her waist. But he quickly stopped himself. "Victoire, I really shouldn't."

"Won't or shouldn't?" she asked, her voice low.

"Both," he said.

"I like that you're older," she said, stepping closer to him. "I like kissing you—I'd like to kiss you more."

Her lips stretched into a small, alluring smile—it was private, somehow. He looked down, briefly, to her lips, and the memory of how they felt against his rushed to the surface of his mind.

He shook his head reluctantly. Her eyes narrowed and he could see she had taken his rejection as a challenge. Letting go of his arm, she slipped away into the crowd of dancers, and he knew it wouldn't be long before she found another partner.

As the song changed, Kieran reemerged, his face defined by a self-satisfied smirk, although there was a trace of irritation in his eyes.

"You couldn't have danced with her, mate?" he asked Teddy.

"What's it matter to you?" Teddy asked, exasperated. He took a large gulp of his Firewhiskey, hoping to drown out the feeling of regret that nagged at him as he spotted Victoire's head bobbing in the crowd.

"She stole my date," replied Kieran, pouring some Firewhiskey for himself.

"What?" Teddy asked, mystified.

When he found Victoire, his eyes widened. Her arms were around Adelaide's neck, and together they danced to the rhythm of the music. Teddy mind wrapped around it: the beat quick, the raucous guitar unfurling every few notes, Gin Waston's raspy voice growling lyrically—_I'm gunna lure you into the dark, My cold desire to feel the boom boom boom of your heart._

Adelaide spotted them watching and she leaned into Victoire to whisper in her ear. Victoire looked toward him over her shoulder, her blue eyes wicked, and smiled broadly.

_The danger is, I'm dangerous, and I might just tear you apart. Oh, ah, oh_, purred the lead singer of The Bent Winged Snitches, and Victoire turned to him, now dancing is his direction. A heady look passed between them—want and wanting—and he stiffened.

"Merlin," said Michael, his voice low, clearly disoriented. "Is that the Veela dance?"

Teddy shook his head, but felt unable to look away. "You wouldn't be able to talk, if it was."

"So you have seen it?" Kieran asked impishly. He whistled. "Way to go, Ted."

_I'm gunna getcha, I'm gunna getcha, on my own. _She danced languidly, the smooth curve of her hips enhanced by her actions—he loved to watch it. She noticed the direction of his stare, and her fingers traced her hips, then her waist, past the sides of her chest and into her hair. They tangled in the blonde waves the same way his had when they first kissed, and his hand contracted at the memory. She was wearing her fang earing again, and as she moved it dragged along the thin skin of her neck. A chill rushed over him, and he was sure he was not alone in feeling the effects of her flirtations when she bit her lip, her teeth raking hurriedly over the rosy flesh. But not once did she look away.

The tempo picked up, and, smiling broadly, she moved toward him. In her eyes was that same daring, the same nerve that had been there when she told him of her plan to set off the whiz-bangs in Rita Skeeter's tent, and a spark of excitement rushed between them both. He grinned wolfishly as he made his way to her, not thinking, not caring, only remembering the delicious feel of her against him.

And the reality did not disappoint. When she reached him, she threw her arms around his neck and within a moment they were moving together, her hips working at his. The tangible exhilaration that had fueled them at the World Cup found them again, and she laughed, throwing her head back as he danced with her, entirely satisfied. He laughed with her, finding it to be the most satiating way to express his boundless glee.

She rested her forehead against his, and her warm breath tickled at the nerves just under his skin. And it was only a moment before his mouth was on hers, hot, and greedy, and wanting. Gone were the gentle, exploratory kisses of the World Cup, when her lips touched his they matched his fervor. She nipped at his bottom lip, wanting more of him, and her tongue played at his. Her hands raked through his hair, tugging lightly when he thrilled her—his hand skimming her side until it reached her arse, gently squeezing. She pressed herself to him with greater intensity, still dancing to the grinding music, and he thought, maybe, she wasn't too young. Maybe, she had always been like this, bold and knowing, and he had been to nervous to see it. She surely didn't feel innocent within his arms. Maybe—he pulled away to look at her, and instantly saw the cherubic expression that defined her face. Her innocence was tactile, tangible; he quickly dragged himself away.

"I shouldn't," he said weakly at the edge of the room, the depth of his voice betraying him.

She glared at him, pouting. And when he made no move to resume their embrace, her glare deepened to a glower, and she stormed off to her dormitory.


	4. Sixth Year: Part Three

**Hey, guys! Thanks again to those who reviewed! Hearing what you all think about the characters is always really helpful since we only get the roughest sense of them from Pottermore and the last book. Oh, and I forgot to mention in the last chapter that the song playing while they dance is Kill of the Night by Gin Wigmore. Happy reading!**

* * *

The Great Hall bustled with students grabbing their last bits of breakfast, chattering merrily about the upcoming holiday before Professor Longbottom ushered them off to the Hogwarts Express. The walls were lined with pine boughs and holly swags, snowflakes fell softly from the enchanted ceiling, and behind the staff table was a Christmas tree taller than Hagrid.

"Hey," breathed a soft voice in Teddy's ear. He half expected to see Victoire when he looked up from his toast, but the hair that fell to his shoulder was a deep auburn, not blonde.

It would have been wishful thinking, he supposed, for it to be her. After Halloween, she had been rather cool toward him, and that spooked him more than the ghosts. Tempestuous, he had seen, moody, flirtatious, unyieldingly pleased, but never cold. It reminded him of the way she had addressed her father the morning after their row at the World Cup—she was polite, but disregarding—dismissing with her manners.

He was keen to put an end to it, wanting to return to their easy report, but every chance he could find at approaching her she was with another guy. More and more frequently it was Adam Davies, much to Teddy's irritation—he hadn't broken things off with her so she could be with an even older bloke.

He shook his head, and turned his attention to the girl at his side.

"Hi," he said to Eloise. She was one of the two Ravenclaw girls in his year—terribly bright and pretty too. Although, as he looked at her now, he realized he didn't find her to be anywhere near as pretty as Victoire.

She pouted. "Haven't seen much of you this term."

"Yeah," he muttered as he stuffed a spoonful of porridge in his mouth. "Been busy, prefect stuff."

"You were a prefect last year," she said, running her finger over his arm. "And that never stopped you. Not even when we had O.W.L.s"

"Erm... yeah, just got more work this year," he mumbled, his eyes briefly flitting to Victoire.

She followed his gaze. Victoire appeared entirely unaware of them. She laughed with Adelaide, nearly speechless with giggles. Adam Davies sat beside her, absolutely enthralled despite her lack of attention toward him.

"Look, if you two had been together—I get it, you have a lot of chemistry. But she's obviously with Davies now..." She leaned closer. "And I just wanted to remind you I'm still interested."

He looked to her now, realizing just how close she was, and mumbled, "I'll keep that in mind." He stood, oddly concerned that Victoire might mistake the two of them as being together. "Happy Christmas."

* * *

He spent most of the holiday on his motorbike—flying over London at night, sleeping during the day. He preferred to be up in the air where the cool wind pricked his skin. He found himself drifting toward the cemetery where his Gran had been buried, and two days before Christmas, decided to indulge in one of the many imagined conversations that ran through his head.

He sat before her grave, the motorbike Harry gave him after her passing parked behind a tree, as he was sure she wouldn't approve of it. (Though she may concede that she was pleased it had come back to the family, since she had always been so fond of Sirius.)

"Edward Remus Lupin," she would have yelled. "I know you've got fire in you—it's a family trait—but lurking in corners—"

"I wasn't lurking, Gran." he'd say. "I-"

"Don't interrupt your Grandmother," she'd continue with great spirit. "Lurking in dark corners and kissing Victoire so much it's in the Prophet? Edward Lupin, what were you thinking? How old is she?"

"Fourteen," he'd mutter, embarrassed, ripping up the grass beneath him. Then add quickly, "But we haven't done anything since."

"Really?" His grandmother would ask, knowing him all too well.

"Well, a little, but I really have stopped. _And_ she's mad at me for stopping," he'd say in a rush.

She'd smile broadly. "I'm sure. But she's too young."

"Yes, Gran."

He leaned back 'til his head found the cool, soft grass and fell asleep there, with Gran, watching the moon.

* * *

His mind drifted to that conversation the next morning as he woke, the mid-day sun pooling at his windowsill. It still surprised him to wake at the Potter house—his house now, too. It wasn't that it didn't feel like home, but it wasn't Gran's home. She had willed him her house when she passed, with the provision that he must stay with the Potters until he graduated Hogwarts. And he was grateful for it—it was easier to mourn her when he had would-be siblings to distract him.

He rose from his bed, and his turquoise hair, much like his godfather's, stuck up at the back. He shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, still in his pajamas. And no sooner had he found himself in the kitchen than did a pair of little arms fling themselves at him.

"Happy Christmas, Teddy!" said Lily from around his waist, beaming up at him.

He hugged her in return. "It's not quite Christmas yet, Lil. Not 'til tomorrow."

"Christmas Eve counts as Christmas," she said with irrepressible glee. "By the way, Mummy said you'd better get ready. We're going to be leaving for Granny's in an hour."

Right, Granny's. He wasn't certain if he was nervous or excited to see them all again, considering the last time they'd all been together he and Victoire had rather publicly been caught snogging. He supposed there wasn't any chance of Rita Skeeter being there to catch them. But, then again, Victoire was so livid with him it was nigh impossible there'd be anything to catch.

"You too, Daddy," she said, turning to Harry as he entered the kitchen.

Harry glanced up at Teddy and saw the trepidation clear on his face. "Why don't you go tell Mum that we'll be up shortly," he said.

"Alright," she said, and soon she was nothing more than a flash of bright red hair bounding up the stairs.

"You look nervous," he said to Teddy once she was gone. "Worried someone's going to catch you with Victoire again?"

Teddy knew he was joking, but he couldn't help replying sullenly. "No, there's none of that."

Harry nodded. "Well, that's all good. Means you won't have to worry about Bill staring at you while cutting his very bloody stakes."

"Yeah—hold on, he does that?"

"For nearly a year before I married Ginny," said Harry, smiling broadly. "Though it didn't seem like even that would stop Victoire."

"Er, it didn't," muttered Teddy. "I did. I, um…" He scratched at the back of his head, further ruffling his hair. He hadn't expected to talk about her with Harry, but the words were rushing to his mouth before he had the chance to notice. "She looks so much older, you know? And she's not shy about her… uh, feelings, and I dunno, if we kept it up, if I would be able to, uh, contain my _considerable_ feelings. _She's_ definitely not trying to. And I don't think she's really, erm, prepared for what happens if she continues to express those… those, uh…" he tried desperately to search for another word, but came up short, "feelings."

Harry's brow furrowed for a long moment, his expression darkening, and Teddy grew concerned that he had crossed a line. But as soon as the thought passed through his mind, Harry burst into laughter.

"So you're not mad at me?" Teddy asked hesitantly.

Harry smiled warmly. "Of course not. It's makes me happy actually."

"My being miserable over trying to contain how much I want to have sex with Victoire make you happy?" Teddy asked incredulously, and admittedly, a little bitterly.

Harry's uproarious laughter returned. "Well, I'm not happy you're miserable. But I'm happy that's what you're worried over."

"I don't understand," said Teddy, feeling like this was quite an issue.

Harry shook his head. "You didn't mention once the idea of joining us to fight off a dark wizard, and that was nearly all I thought about at your age. I'm sure the thought hasn't even crossed your mind. Nor should it. That means the war is really and _permanently_ won… That pleases me more than anything."

Of course, it's won, Teddy thought. But, dimly, he remembered Ginny mentioning that the fear Voldemort would return once again was so ingrained in Harry that she often caught him searching for reminders that he never would.

Well, if his mucked up sex life was going to help, why the fuck not?

* * *

The Burrow was rather pleasantly stuffed full of Weasleys. The telltale red hair could be found in every corner, and as Teddy looked around, he felt warmed by them. From the moment he stepped out of the fireplace with Lily, he was greeted with a combustion of sound. This, he realized—more than any time before—was home.

Not by chance or by happenstance, or even by default. But because they made it so.

"Oh, look how tall you've grown," said Molly fondly, wrapping him in a hug. "Just like Ron, couldn't keep him in clothes long enough."

She fussed at his hair, attempting to smooth the bit in the back that always stood up. He remembered how she'd done that when she'd come to Hogwarts with Harry the past April, just after his birthday, just after Gran had died. She brought him pumpkin pasties, and wrapped him in a vice grip of a hug. She looked at him, tears leaking at the corners of her eyes, and said, "I know I'm not your Gran, but, oh dear, never forget that you've got a family."

He had been stunned, his mind hadn't fully wrapped around her words. But now, as he looked around, he realized that every adult in the room had done that for him at one point or another—had reminded him that there was more than one kind of family—had grieved with him over his parents, and then his Gran, but never once let him feel like the lonely little orphan.

Ginny and Harry were practically second parents to him, George had helped him learn to morph, Bill had calmed his lycanthropic fears, Ron had taught him how to fly (and how to swear), Percy had helped him with his essays his first year at Hogwarts, and Hermione—he'd never forget what Hermione had given him.

Fresh in the wake of the war's end, she had channeled her grief into collecting every detail she could gather on the fallen members of the Order of the Phoenix. It was as soothing a balm as could ever be found for those who had survived. She had been relentless in her research, amassing even details as mundane as their favorite breakfast food. At the end, she bound it all in a book—it was the only proper way to do it, she had said—and given one to each remaining member of the Order—including Teddy, the last Order orphan.

On his copy, she had cast an additional charm. When he turned to the chapters dedicated to his mum and dad, an ephemeral version of them emerged and read to him their story. He lived in the details of them—he knew that his mother took her coffee black with four spoonfuls of sugar, and that his father had taken to keeping small bits of wrapped chocolate in his pockets. His dad had discovered the tunnel behind the One-eyed Witch, and his mum had been Hufflepuff''s first Dueling Champion in a century. There were many years when he fell asleep listening to them, to their stories, as he would've had they been there in the flesh.

When he grew older and described his book to others, he soon learned by the wonder and curiosity that instantly bloomed in their eyes that this magic was rare indeed, and had certainly cost Hermione quite a bit of time.

But every time he asked her of it, she smiled warmly and said, "Did you think Harry was the only one to help your Gran change your nappies?" He didn't know what this had to do with his book, and at his confusion, she would continue, "We could all see from the start that you are the best parts of them." And then she would say, with a conviction that Teddy was sure made her quite fearsome in the war, "I would never let Voldemort stop you from knowing that."

He didn't know why this was dawning on him now rather than last time they'd all been together, or the time before that—perhaps he'd had enough imagined conversations with Gran. And it wasn't even the Burrow itself that he considered home, but being one of the many in this family—his family.

The feeling was buoyant within him, expanding in his chest, filling him with great joy as they all sat down in the now magically expanded kitchen. So much so that the usual pang of jealousy that accompanied any mention of Adam Davies was nowhere to be found.

"Who?" asked Bill quickly, and the celebratory din quieted as the entirety of the family focused their attention on Victoire and Bill.

"Davies?" Fleur asked her daughter. "I zink 'is fazer took me to ze Yule Ball. 'e waz very good looking."

Bill's face continued to darken.

"How long d'you reckon before he demands yet another boy not go near her?" George asked Ron in a mock whisper.

Ron studied his eldest brother's face. "Five minutes."

"That's generous," said George. "I'd give him two."

Victoire kicked Fred beneath the table.

"No one," she said coolly to her father.

Fred snorted. "Yeah, just the no one that walks with you to classes."

"And sits with you at meals," added James.

"And takes you to Hogsmeade," said Fred.

"Did you not see him during the last Qudditch match?" asked Dominique, rolling her eyes. "He paid more attention to you than the snitch. We nearly lost to Hufflepuff!"

"And practically drools on you when you study," continued James.

"And sneaks you off to the Restricted Section."

"And takes you to the kitchen between meals."

"And lets you break curfew."

"Hold on," said Bill, his face reddening. "Who is he to let you break curfew?"

"He's Head Boy," said Fred enthusiastically.

"He's a seventh year?" Bill nearly shouted. "I told you Teddy was too old for you and you thought a seventeen-year-old would be better?"

"I warned you not to stop 'er, mon cher," Fleur said to her husband, a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"He's not seventeen," Victoire muttered darkly, pleased she was getting a rise out of her father.

"He's just turned eighteen," added James, smiling wickedly. "He snuck her out to Hogsmeade to celebrate."

"Some Head Boy," scoffed Percy.

"Eighteen?" shouted Bill with astonishment. "He's four years older than you?"

But Victoire ignored him. Instead, her eyes narrowed on Fred and James, and when she spoke, her voice was eerily calm.

"Do you remember when Peeves caught you with the instant darkness powder?" she said quietly.

"Oh, shit," muttered Fred, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," said James defiantly, not catching on quite so quickly.

"Do you remember what I did to him so he wouldn't tell?" There was a sharp edge to the serenity of her voice. "Imagine how that would affect someone solid."

James paled and turned to Fred, searching for a plan, but when he found none they both turned to gape at her.

"Good," she said, not waiting for an answer, and her lips spread smoothly into a smile. "Keep that in mind."

"Merlin," said Ron with a chuckle. "And I thought Ginny was bad."

"Wait, you were involved with the darkness powder prank?" Bill wailed.

"Obviously," Victoire said, never one for modesty, and threw her silver-blonde hair over her shoulder. "Did you really think two first years could turn that much powder invisible? Someone had to make sure McGonagall wouldn't find them before it finished going off."

"That's very advanced magic," said Hermione appreciatively.

"Hang on," said Ron indignantly. "If we had done that you would have called it an egregious misuse of class time."

"Well, it is," said Hermione smiling. "But it's also very impressive magic."

"Thank you, Aunt Hermione," said Victoire smiling sweetly. "Nan, is it too early for cake?"

"Of course not," said Molly warmly, and smoothly levitated a piece onto Victoire's plate.

As the family resumed their usual conversation, Teddy stared at her and marveled at her boldness. She hadn't really denied anything, and yet the family had let it go, as if it was nothing—well, all except for Bill of course. He tried in vain to ignore the jealousy that pulsed through him, but soon was thinking of what he'd like to do with her in the Restricted Section and knew Davies' imagination couldn't be too far off.

"So he sneaks you off the grounds?" he asked, his voice a low growl beside her. "I know how to do that."

Her leg brushed against his beneath the table, and he could've sworn he saw a blush briefly rise to her cheeks at the contact.

"Why should it be of any consequence to you?" she asked, her tone biting.

"Just… just because you're too young," he whispered, "doesn't mean I don't still fancy you."

She looked up at him and blinked, a dozen feelings flitting across her face before her brow furrowed. "I'm not too young."

"Yeah, you are," he insisted, if only to keep himself from reaching for her. One of her legs was now wrapped around his beneath the table, and he was surprised by the heat of her.

"You seem to be the only one who thinks so," she pouted.

"Maybe I'm the only who properly gives a shit," he said through gritted teeth.

Anger snapped to her eyes, and he knew he'd fucked up. But fuck it—it was the truth. Her lips parted, her tongue ready to scream. But just before the sound rushed forward she sighed. "We're not going to have a row on Christmas, Teddy."

"No?" he asked. Restraint was a shade of Victoire he'd never seen before.

She shook her head, and her eyes drifted to the family around her. Many of them had wandered off to other rooms of the Burrow, Celestina Warbeck's warbling tones could be heard from the sitting room, and a great scuffling sound from the floor above them indicated that Fred, James, and her brother had found their way upstairs.

"Come on," she said, rising from the table and grabbing his hand.

"Where are we going?" he asked as he followed her through the kitchen.

"I want to show you something, but I don't want to burn the house down," she said, grinning at him over her shoulder.

"What?" he asked, surprised by her answer.

She pulled him out the back door into the yard, nearly tripping over one of the gnomes that crossed their path near the garden. She didn't stop until she was several paces away from the house.

"I've been working on this for a while now," she said, holding her palm up to him.

He stared at it, unsure what she was doing, until a few sparks rose from her flesh. Quickly, they grew in size and height, reaching into the air above them like a firecracker.

"I can't throw fire like a proper Veela," she said, looking to him. "But this is—"

"Wicked," he whispered.

When they returned to the Burrow, snow in their hair—the cold nipping at their skin—Victoire had been swept up immediately by her mother, who took her to a corner of the kitchen where they proceeded to speak in rapid-fire French. They were still there when Teddy made his way to the fire with the Potters, inclined conspiratorially toward each other, looking over to him every now and again.

He glanced at her, wanting to say good-bye, and was startled by the look he found in her eyes. Blazing and blue, it was intimate, baring. He only just managed to mumble out the right name as he dropped the Floo powder in the fire, and when his feet found the solid hearth of the Potter home, he stumbled forward, dazed.

It had been months since she'd kissed him, but his nerves hummed at the memory of her lips, swollen from kisses, against his. A chill ran over him as he thought of the way she moved in his arms when he ran his lips over her neck, his teeth teasing at the thin skin beneath her ear—how her mouth had parted, warm breath rushing forward, when his fingers brushed past the hem of her skirt.

"Teddy, are you alright?" Harry asked as he emerged out of the fireplace behind him, Albus in hand.

"Yeah… I'm going to bed," Teddy mumbled, and took the stairs two at a time.


	5. Sixth Year: Part Four

**Hello all!**

** Just a heads up, this chapter definitely earns its M rating. Also, I have a few scenes from this chapter that I took out because I was worried it would be too long. But I could post them if you guys are interested.**

**Happy reading!**

* * *

_**January**_

He was still thinking of that look a week later as he patrolled the corridors of the Hogwarts Express. It had haunted him for days—what she meant by it, if she intended to reveal so much. His mind had begun to fill in the gaps of what they hadn't had the chance to do at the World Cup—how her breasts would feel within his palm, the way she'd bite at his shoulder when he discovered the hollow of her neck, how she'd tremble when he made her come. And he knew that now, more than ever, he needed to keep his distance from her. His resolve was crumbling.

A hand reached out into the corridor and grabbed at his robes, pulling him into the nearest compartment. He recognized her before he saw her—from her perfume, her grasping touch.

"Hi," Victoire said coquettishly as the door slid shut behind him.

Oh, shit. She was close to him, just at the edge of his fingers. Much too close for the strength of his determination.

He cleared his throat, attempting to shake away the potential of all they could do in a compartment alone together.

"How are you?" he asked, his nerves drawing out the 'u' awkwardly.

Her laughter came from deep within her throat, and his eyes drifted to the way it lifted her chest.

"I'm alright," she said, smiling. "I wanted to see you."

"Well," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Now you are."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Am I making you nervous, Teddy?"

"Erm… no, I wouldn't call it that," he said, making a sorry attempt at a laugh. His eyes drifted to the corner of her mouth as it quirked up, and he thought of how simple it would be to kiss her.

"Good. 'Cause you shouldn't be," she said. "You fancy me—"

"You're with Davies," he countered weakly, his body reacting to the heat of hers.

She shook her head, amusement lighting her eyes. "He just likes being around me, showing off for me. I haven't done anything with him."

She reached up, extending herself onto her toes, and brushed her lips over his. He inhaled sharply at the contact, and she smiled against him.

Hesitantly, he withdrew from her.

"I know you think I'm too young," she said sweetly, gently. "But I fancy you—"

Quickly, he looked down to meet her gaze. He knew she did, she wouldn't have snogged him if she didn't, but he had never thought on how hearing her say it would affect him.

"And I know you fancy me," she smiled, and grew closer to him again. "We've been friends for so long, what does it matter that I'm a few years younger than you?"

She reached up and brought her hand to his cheek, her thumb running over his chin where stubble had already begun to grow. And oh, was she tempting, her cheeks flushed with wanting, her blue eyes full of promise, her lips parted, her hair ruffled and wild. She fancied him, she wanted him. It could be that simple. But there was a naïve quality he couldn't ignore, it was there in the spark of her eye, and revealed to him that despite the Veela in her, her bravado, her bold words, her charm, she did not really know where she was leading him, not as he did, not yet.

He leaned into her touch, and turned his head 'til his lips reached her hand. Savoring the warmth of her, he trailed kisses along her thumb, her wrist, her palm. She beamed at him, and leaned closer, her hips resting against his.

"Victoire," he said, his voice husky, his eyes closed. "No."

She recoiled immediately, as if his 'no' was a slap. "Why?"

He opened his eyes slowly, knowing she would be livid if he told her.

"I thought, at Christmas…" she said slowly. He could see the anger rising like a flush to her cheeks. "Does it even matter that _I've_ decided I'm old enough?"

He knew she was hardly innocent in her mind's eye. She never saw herself as anything but bold. He shook his head, not knowing the words.

Her eyes darkened and her mouth twisted into a pout. "Fuck you," she breathed aggressively, and threw open the door, her hair whipping around in her wake.

He leaned against the door once it shut, and starred out the window of the train. He had expected her to yell, to shout, to fight, but this quiet, burning anger was something else.

"Fuck," he mumbled and kicked at the door. She may really be gone from him now.

His worry was confirmed as he sat down along the long Gryffindor house table in the Great Hall. She was chatting merrily with Adelaide, but it was Adam Davies' arm slung around her that agitated him.

"Well, isn't he smug?" said Michael, amused.

Teddy watched as Davies sat with her at the Gryffindor table. He leaned down to whisper something in her ear, and she turned to him, laughing brightly, and swatted at him playfully. Teddy's heart sunk to his stomach at the sight of them.

"Wouldn't we all be?" added Kieran with a smirk.

"Could'a been you, Ted," teased Michael. "But you've got to have morals."

"Sod off," said Teddy sourly, stabbing at his beef casserole with his fork.

"Oof," said Kieran, clutching his heart in mock-offense. "Don't know if we deserved that, mate. I distinctly remember you turning her down. And she made it _pretty_ clear she wanted you."

Teddy glared at him. "Doesn't mean I want her with anyone else."

* * *

_**February**_

They didn't speak for over a month—their interaction limited to carefully avoiding each other in the halls and the awkward glances they exchanged when she was around Davies. (He counted himself lucky that Davies was a Ravenclaw, and didn't have to worry about the two of them snogging in the Common Room.) In fact, he hadn't so much as heard her voice until the sound of her roaring up the stairs to the boy's dormitory caught his attention.

Michael laughed as he pushed open their bedroom door, looking over his shoulder down the stairs. "Oh Merlin, those boys are fucked," he said, drawing out the first syllable of 'fucked' for effect.

"What'd they do?" Teddy asked, immediately aware of which boys he was referring to.

"Dunno," said Michael with an amused shrug. "But I don't think I've ever seen someone so angry. She nearly stunned a third year for not clearing out of her way."

"Shit," Teddy said, and flew off his bed, bounding down the stairs toward the first year floor.

"James Sirius Potter," he heard her scream. "I am going to flog you, then feed your entrails to my owl!"

When he arrived at their dorm, he found Adelaide leaning against the door frame, smiling at Fred, who was doing his very best to woo her.

"That's very charming," she said. "But I could never date my best mate's family."

"We're only cousins," Fred countered smoothly. "Not that close—practically not related."

Adelaide chuckled. "I am a bit old for you, don't you think?"

"What's that matter?" Fred asked, smirking. "Oh, hey, Teddy!"

"Teddy!" James yelped from beside his bed. Victoire was at the other side, mirroring his actions, ready to strike the moment he moved.

"Teddy can't help you now, you little shit," she seethed.

He jumped toward the end of his bed, attempting to get closer to Teddy, but she was much quicker. She leapt toward him, and as she moved, Teddy realized that she must have been in the middle of getting ready when the need to attack James struck her, as she was wearing a lace, periwinkle top and he was certain she wasn't going to pair it with her sleep shorts in the middle of February. Her lean, athletic legs flexed as she moved, and he nearly felt guilty for paying greater attention to that than to her knocking James to the ground, pinning him underneath her.

"Why are you only angry at me?" he whined. "Fred did it too!"

"You're right," she said too sweetly, although there was a growl at the edge of her voice.

She sat up, shifting so that her right knee was at his sternum, and turned to Fred. She flicked her wand quickly in his direction, and he fell to the floor.

"Gorgeous even from this angle," he said to Adelaide just before the full affects of the body bind curse hit him.

"But this has your name written all over it, Potter," she said, turning back to him.

"What did he do?" Teddy asked, bewildered yet amused.

James beamed. "Turned Davies' hair blue."

"So?' Teddy asked, confused. A simple countercharm should have sorted that out.

Adelaide fixed him with the same peculiar look she'd given him on the Hogwarts Express all those months ago.

"Boys with blue hair are a bit of a sore spot for her," she said pointedly, her eyes briefly glancing up to his own hair.

Oh.

"Thought it'd be a nice Valentine's Day present. She's been snogging him _everywhere_," James continued, devilish glee in his eyes. "If she's got to have a boyfriend, she could at least pick you."

Oh, fuck.

Victoire smacked her wand against his forehead, and Teddy couldn't tell if it was part of a spell or because he deserved it.

"When Professor Flitwick tried to reverse it, he took on your eyes," Adelaide said, adding to Teddy's discomfort. "Took about an hour to sort out."

Teddy opened his mouth to speak, but was soon distracted by the bat that crawled out of James' nose. More followed in quick session, some flying out rather than crawling.

"Why don't you go see how long it takes Flitwick to sort _you_ out," Victoire said with a wicked smile, standing to admire her handy work. She waved her wand nonchalantly and Fred relaxed, sitting up quickly to rub at his limbs. "And take Fred with you."

James did not need to be told twice. He took off down the stairs, Fred in a tow, a trail of bats soaring behind him.

Adelaide smirked at Teddy, and turned down the stairs after them, with the clear intention of leaving him alone with Victoire.

"So… Guess I'm not the only Hogwarts student with blue hair now, huh?" he asked, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

She glowered at him, her arms crossed over her chest, and watched him squirm for a few moments under her gaze.

He wondered why she hadn't left yet, why she hadn't stormed past him, or threaten to hex him too as he had expected her to do… Perhaps for the reason he hadn't turned on his heal and followed James and Fred—he missed her, and the depth of it had not crossed his mind until he was left standing here alone with her.

"So you've got a thing for blue hair, eh?" he said, attempting a joke.

But she didn't laugh, rather, her blue eyes narrowed further and her wand hand twitched.

"I could always change it a different color," he said, his hair turning to a blonde like hers, then black like James' as he spoke, and finally, his natural sandy brown. "If you'd prefer it."

"So I can choose your hair color, but not what I can do with my body?" she asked quietly, her voice cutting.

"Uh…" he faltered. He had only wanted to make her laugh. "I… I didn't…"

She rolled her eyes. "No, you didn't."

She brushed past him as she stormed away, her touch raising the fine hairs that covered his arm.

* * *

_**April**_

"Did you really _choose_ to do this?" James asked as they rounded a corner onto the second floor corridor.

"Why would anyone want to be a Prefect?" Fred asked. He nearly knocked into a torch, his eyes transfixed on the Marauder's Map, before Teddy tugged him out of the way.

Teddy had found the pair wandering near the kitchens—Fred with the Marauder's Map in hand, and James with the invisibility cloak tucked under his arm—and knew they were up to something. Better to wander around with them while he completed his Prefects rounds than to let them off on their own, he decided.

"Well, for starters," said Teddy. "No one questions me about walking around the castle at night."

Fred looked up from the map to peer at James, an idea in his eye. "Yeah, that does sound useful."

"But is it worth it?" James countered. "You have to follow all the rules."

"You're supposed to be following the rules, anyway," Teddy said and ruffled James' hair.

James looked up at Teddy and smiled, clearly believing Teddy's words to be a joke. "Yeah, right."

"You'd get to deduct house points from gits you don't like," said Fred, now pondering the possibilities.

"I'm not supposed to. There's got to be a reason," Teddy said, before continuing with a sly glance to Fred. "But it's easy enough to find a reason, if they're a big enough git."

James remained unconvinced. "_Or_, you could just charm their hair blue. Seemed to make Davies mad well enough."

Teddy rolled his eyes. "You really shouldn't have done that. Davies got over it pretty quick, but not Victoire."

"I know," James said, rubbing his nose at the memory. "Don't really need to be reminded."

"Did I hear my name?" Victoire's voice came from around the corner.

"Maybe," said James playfully. Once Madame Pomfrey had managed to remove the last bat from his nose, he had called it fair between them.

"Well, I rather doubt there's more than one Victoire at Hogwarts," she said when she came to face them.

"What are you doing out past curfew?" Fred asked.

Victoire rolled her eyes. "I could ask you the same thing."

"We're with Teddy," Fred said as if it were self-explanatory.

"Getting up to Merlin knows what, I'm sure," Victoire said with a teasing smile. "Hardly more innocent than anything I could be doing."

"What _are_ you doing out so late?" Teddy asked a bit bitterly. "With Davies again?"

Victoire narrowed her eyes. "Is that all you think I do?"

When he didn't answer, she gave a sharp, contemptuous laugh.

"I was at the Hospital Wing," she said, waving a note in the air. She raised the sleeve of her right arm to show it wrapped in gauze. "You can take a look for yourself, if you don't believe me."

"And what brought you to the Hospital Wing?" Teddy asked, the sharp edge in his voice having to do as much with his concern for her as it did her mocking tones.

"Professor Longbottom has been letting me experiment with the Venimous Tentacula," she said, and released the bandage that held the gauze in place, revealing a deep gash that wrapped itself around her forearm. "One of the vines got at me."

"Wicked," breathed Fred and James in unison.

"Are you mad? It could have killed you!" said Teddy.

He winced at the sight of it. The venom had been cleared out, sure enough, but the skin of her arm—usually moon pale and unblemished—was blistered and raw. A trickle of blood ran down her arm at the loss of pressure from the gauze. It was sure to leave a scar.

"Yeah," Victoire said, grimacing at the wound as she bound it once more, but Teddy noticed a hint of pride there too. "It tried to, got through my glove, jumper, and all. But it was worth it—proved my theory."

"That's reckless, is what that is," Teddy said dismissively. He must admit, he was dead curious what the injury had won her, but it was anger that threatened to boil and break out. He could hardly imagine a more dangerous thing to.

She smirked. "No more reckless than running around on a fifty-year old flying motorbike that's been wrecked three times over."

He eyed her arm. "That remains to be seen."

She shrugged and turned from them without preamble.

"Oi, where are you going?" asked Teddy, calling after her down the hall.

"To bed, of course," she said over her shoulder. "Don't want to get caught by a Prefect."

* * *

Teddy woke with a sudden jolt, as if his bed was being shaken. And, upon opening his eyes, found that, in fact, it was.

"Happy birthday!" James cheered raucously as he and Fred unleashed a cracker across Teddy's bed.

Confetti rained down from the cracker, along with the customary paper crown and trinkets, covering his bed in colorful bits and bobs.

"Happy birthday, mate!" Fred added, and took a small, wrapped package from his pocket and set it at the foot of the bed.

"I think there's only one appropriate place for this to be," Kieran said. He unfolded the paper crown and placed it on Teddy's head, grinning at the silliness of it.

"You ought to wear that all day," said Michael, laughing from his own bed.

"I'm sure I look a proper ponce with it on," Teddy said, but made no effort to get rid of it.

"More like an arse," said Fred. "But at least it matches your hair."

Teddy was about to chuck one of the little kazoos that had come from the cracker at his head until he noticed the pile of presents at the end of his bed. One of them, he could tell from its lumpy shape, was a brand new sweater from Nan Weasley. He could also spot the distinct shape of chocolate frog box pack, and tore into it, his stomach growling for breakfast.

"Who would give you just a card?" asked James, his face contorted as if he were offended for Teddy. He held an envelope in his hand and shook it, as if there may be a real present hidden inside. Teddy saw it wasn't signed, there was merely a 'V' scrawled elegantly beneath seal.

"It's from Victoire," he said, taking it from James. His finger skirted the opening, tearing open the paper. "It's probably just a… just a…"

His eyes widened. It wasn't a card, nor was it a Weasley's Parchment Dung Bomb, as he had expected. Two small slips of paper spilled out of the envelope and into his hand. And on them, printed in a sparkling purple script were the seat numbers he now possessed for August's Bent Winged Snitches concert in London.

"No!" he breathed, astonished, then shouted. "No fucking way! Holy shit! Holy Merlin's saggy left testicle! No fucking way!"

He leapt out of his bed, throwing back the blanket, and unleashed a wave of confetti into the air.

"What is it?" Michael asked as Teddy reached the door. But Teddy was too excited to find words that weren't expletives, so he merely turned to Michael, his eyes still wide, and fanned out the tickets before his face, revealing the Bent Winged Snitches designed clearly etched in gold across the top of each little stub.

"Holy fucking cricket," he continued as he raced down the stairs.

When he was in the Common Room, he attempted to run up the stairs to the girl's dormitory, forgetting, in his excitement, that they would turn into a slide at his touch.

"Are you alright?" Adelaide asked, making no attempt to hide her laughter as Teddy slid down the few stairs he had managed to climb before the enchantment caught up with him.

"Have you seen Victoire?" he asked her once he reached the bottom

"Just ahead of you," she said, pointing to the portrait hole. "She's meeting—"

But Teddy had already rushed off in Victoire's direction. He caught her just before she left the Common Room, the Fat Lady already swung open for her exit. He grabbed her around the waist from behind, and picked her up into a boundless hug. (She didn't stiffen when he touched her, he noticed, it was as if she recognized him. He supposed she did.) And so consumed was he by excitement and momentum that he stumbled forward, out into the corridor, with her in his arms.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you," he said in her ear as he spun her around.

She let out a high shriek of delight at the surprise, and a great burst of laughter unfurled from her. Her long, pale hair flared out around them as he turned, tickling his arm.

"I take it you saw your birthday present," she said when her feet were firmly on the ground. Her soft, pouting lips stretched wide into a smile.

"How did you manage?" he asked, barely able to maintain his enthusiasm. "It's been sold out for months—"

"I got them for you ages ago," she said, grinning near as much as he was. "Nearly gave them to you for Christmas."

"Never've known you to keep a secret for so long," he said, teasing, entirely overcome with delight.

"You'd be surprised," she said coyly.

The student beside them coughed, as if to remind them that they weren't alone, and Teddy looked over to see Davies with a rather disgruntled look on his face. It was only just then that he realized Victoire was still in his arms, that he was still gripping her tight, and she didn't seem bothered by it at all. Slowly, begrudgingly, he released her.

"What's with the crown?" Davies asked, nodding in the direction of the paper crown that still adorned Teddy's head.

"Oh, erm," Teddy said, scratching at the back of his head. "S'my birthday."

Davies nodded, his grey eyes steely as he extended a hand to Victoire. There was a sense of warning in the way he moved; his muscles, honed by Quidditch, seemed ready, as if Teddy may threaten him. "You ready to go, love?"

"Yeah," she said, taking his hand, and Davies seemed to soften as she slipped into his grasp. She looked up at Teddy. "I know it's April, but you may be a bit cold in just your jammers."

Teddy nearly coughed in surprise. "Oh, yeah. Course. I wasn't planning to, uh, walk around like this. Just, uh, wanted to say thank you… for the tickets."

She smiled again, in that private way she had, and his stomach flipped at the sight of it. "S'not every day one of your best mates comes of age."

Davies tugged on her arm, and she gave him a look, the sharpness of it nearly hidden from Teddy by her hair.

"Happy birthday," she murmured, and her hair brushed his arm once again as she turned away from him.

Teddy watched the pair walk down the hall, Davies' arm soon wrapping territorially around her waist, and before they rounded the corner, he gave Teddy one last pointed look.

* * *

_**May**_

Hogsmeade visits in the spring were always especially boisterous—there was nothing like the chance of a weekend's freedom to remind you that summer was just around the corner. And as Teddy, Michael, and Kieran made their way down the main road, the crowd at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes reminded him that today was an especially festive one. Victory Day—or, Teddy recalled with a smile, Victoire Day, as she had taken to calling it, it was her birthday, after all—marked the anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. To celebrate the brave victory, witches and wizards all across Britain had taken to setting off fireworks, and none were so dazzling as those at Hogwarts.

Ever year for the occasion, George Weasley returned with parcels upon parcels of Whiz-bangs—including one that erupted into a wolf once ignited and played the Weird Sisters' song Howling Moon, just for Teddy. Once, he asked why, and George looked at him wistfully and said, "Hundreds of students running around Hogwarts with fireworks and sparklers?" His mouth had spread into a wide, mirthful grin, "It's the best mischief I could ever imagine."

"Can't wait for the display tonight," said Kieran, smirking. "S'best part of the year."

"What? Not the end of it?" asked Teddy laughing, knowing full well Kieran loathed exams more than most. In fact, Teddy could've sworn he had intentionally put himself at the wrong end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt just to get out of them second-year.

"Nah, you just can't beat Peeves setting one off in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom," said Kieran, grinning at the thought of the yearly inevitability.

"Yes," roared Michael at the sight of the new Weird Sisters record in the window of Dominic's Music Shop. "They've got it!"

Teddy laughed as Michael abandoned them to rush off toward the shop, and a brief flash of blonde hair caught his attention as they passed Madame Puddifoot's.

He didn't recognize the feeling that stirred in him when he saw her. He had seen them snog before—her and Davies—it was nauseating, and caused his stomach to sink, but it wasn't anything worse than he had done with girls before—especially Eloise.

And they hadn't even been snogging, really. He was only kissing her, and she was wrapped in his arms, smiling sweetly. But Teddy's mind reeled. Perhaps it was the memory of that look Davies had given him on his birthday. _Mine_, it'd seemed to say, _not yours_.

"You ok, Ted?" Kieran asked when he noticed Teddy had stopped in his tracks.

It was a rush—he was hardly aware of doing it—closing the few paces between himself and Davies.

"Oi, Teddy!" Kieran called, but Teddy didn't turn to him. His mind was wrapped up in the idea of getting Davies as far away from her as possible.

When the full weight of his body slammed up against the other boy's, he stumbled a few feet away from her.

Good, declared a part of him, the more distance between the two, the better.

"Lupin," Davies shouted. "What the—"

But Teddy didn't give him the chance to finish before his fist connected with his nose, and Teddy knew from the sickening crack that he had broken it.

"Fuck," he dimly heard Kieran shout as he ran toward them.

But he didn't have much of a chance to register anything else before Victoire stunned him.

"What the fuck, Teddy?" she spat, knowing full well he couldn't respond. She was seething, her eyes narrowed on him before quickly turning to Davies.

He was bleeding profusely from his nose, and if Teddy could've smiled, he would've.

"If you stop fussing I can fix it," she tutted at Davies, who squirmed when she tried to remove the hand he had clamped around his nose. "Just hold still."

When he finally relaxed, she flicked her wand and said, "Episkey."

Teddy heard a slight snapping sound as the bone settled back into place.

"Do you mind taking him up to Madame Pomfrey?" Victoire asked Kieran.

"Uh, yeah…" Kieran said, eyeing the still frozen Teddy, and Teddy wondered if Kieran was weighing the chances that he'd be stunned too if he said no.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll be there shortly."

* * *

Victoire rounded on Teddy. She had been hoping to avoid him today. She didn't need him reminding her that, even now, a year older, he still thought of her as a child.

She waved her wand and released him, her arms coming to rest across her chest, ready to berate him. But as soon as he had regained the feeling in his legs, he took off down the side street beside Madame Puddifoot's.

"Are you fucking serious?" she snapped, running after him. "You broke his fucking nose and you're just going to storm off? The fuck's wrong with you?"

There weren't many shops down the side street. Really, it was just the extension of the teashop, and when he stopped and turned on her, she was aware they were quite alone.

"You shouldn't have been snogging him in public," Teddy said stubbornly. His eyes were darker than usual, and the hair at the back of his neck appeared as if it was standing on end, like a dog's. Nah, she shook her head, she must be mistaken.

"Fuck off. I saw you do much worse last year with loads of girls—" she said, rather angry that he felt he had the right to tell her what to do.

"It's not the same," he said.

"Bullocks," she scoffed. "And I'm going to do whatever I like with my boyfriend—"

"I should be your boyfriend," he said suddenly, catching her off guard. What was he playing at?

"Yeah, you should be," she countered boldly after a moment. And he visibly relaxed before her, the dark look clearing his eyes.

Her pulse quickened as he stepped closer, and her nerves stirred. She felt his breath against her neck, and her lips parted instinctually, ready to meet his. She looked up at him, and found him eyeing her intently.

"You should be," she whispered, wanting nothing more in that moment.

He shook his head slowly—almost reluctantly—still watching her. "I don't think you're ready for the way I want you," he breathed.

Her breath caught in her throat as her skin rose to his words. She didn't know there was more than one way of wanting, nor—she realized, as nerves ached and begged at the very center of her—that the feeling could strike her so quickly.

"Tell me. Show me," she whispered, moving just a fraction closer so that she brushed against him. "Let me decide."

His hand tangled in her hair as he brought his lips to hers, and she nearly whimpered at the contact. This was not a playful kiss nor was it shy or flirtatious, as his lips worked against hers she could feel the depth of his wanting. This was a kiss he had waited months to give her. It had been there, lingering at the World Cup, and she had wanted it desperately. But she had not been allowed to taste it.

Her blood quickened as he slowly traced his tongue along her bottom lip. She ran her fingers through his hair, gripping at it, wanting more, and was pleased to hear him groan.

He pulled away from her to run his thumb along her lip, and she nipped at it, smiling wickedly. He smirked as he trailed it lower along her ear to her neck, teasing the thin skin with his gentle contact, before he descended to her chest. She shivered, as no one had ever touched her in such a way before. Her hand in his hair tightened and, hungrily, she brought his mouth back to hers.

Her lips parted at his prompting and soon his tongue was playing at her. They exchanged quick, insatiable kisses, and a low sigh of satisfaction rushed up from her belly to meet his touch. She gripped him as close as she could, her other hand running along his torso beneath his shirt, thrilled by the feel of his muscles contracting beneath her.

His hand moved at her breast, and instinctually, she arched into his touch. His thumb brushed over her nipple—once, twice, a third time—and at each instance her breath caught in her mouth, emitting a slow, strangled gasp. She did not know this feeling that stirred in the crux of her thighs, but she felt if he did it again—and again—if she could just reach it!—then she may be able to understand it, to touch it. She wanted nothing more.

She kissed along his jaw, over his ear, and—oh—he groaned as her teeth skimmed his ear. She did it again—a little more roughly—eager to know if she caused the same feeling in him. His hand descended to the small of her back, pressing her hips into his. His fingers grasped her breast, kneading the swollen flesh, and she nearly cried out. But it wasn't enough—closer, she wanted closer—and she found herself grinding into him, as she had when they danced.

"Teddy," she breathed against him, dazed by the warmth of him at her thigh.

And his hand at her back descended lower across her skin, past the band of her skirt, down to where she was wet and slick with wanting. His fingers twirled over a cluster of nerves she hadn't been aware of, and she began to shake, her breathing more ragged, the air high pitched as it escaped her lungs. That same unnamable feeling was building within her, pulling at her, and she was desperate to see its end.

Gently, he pulled back to meet her eyes, and for a moment she was worried she looked quite silly—dazed and frantic, entirely out of control at his touch. But at the dark look in his eye and his own unsteady breaths she knew he felt the same.

"This is the way I want you," he murmured, his fingers withdrawing, and in that moment she did cry out at the loss of his touch. "This is how I feel every time I look at you."

He rested his forehead against hers—it was the only part of him touching her now—and she nodded, too stunned to gather her thoughts. Dimly, she wondered if she knew the words for how he'd made her feel—were there any? Or were there just shaky breaths, and groans, and high moaning cries?

"Oi, you two," Kieran called raucously to them, Adelaide at his side. And Victoire marveled at how such a private feeling could pass between them in such a public place.

She glanced around, and was grateful the teashop didn't have any windows facing the lane where they stood.

"What's the matter with you?" Kieran asked as they grew closer.

Adelaide caught her eye as she made her way to Victoire.

"Come here, dear girl," she said, smiling at Victoire's stunned expression, flushed cheeks, and messy hair. "You look like you could use a butterbeer."

Victoire smiled at her, nodding numbly, and Adelaide laughed, linking her arm through Victoire's when Victoire reached her.

"What?" asked Kieran, confused. "You're just leaving?"

Adelaide smiled at him over her shoulder. "Don't pout, it's only for a little while. I'll see you later."

"That's the second time your girl's stolen my date," Victoire heard him say as they turned onto Hogsmeade's High Street.

"Go on," Adelaide said once Victoire had seemed to gather herself. "Ask, I know you have questions."

"Does it always feel that way?" Victoire asked quickly.

Adelaide laughed. "Well, you'll have to tell me what he did to answer that."

Victoire smiled shyly and whispered it in Adelaide's ear.

"If it's done well," Adelaide said, grinning.

"So… with everyone… that's how it feels?" Victoire asked, a new blush at her cheeks.

"Well, usually, you don't do it in an alley," Adelaide teased, ribbing her gently.

"It wasn't an alley," Victoire pouted.

"But your reaction," she said, glancing over to her friend, "that's only if you have quite a lot of feelings for the person… Speaking of which, where's Adam?"

"Who?" Victoire asked, her fingers on her lips, as if recalling a sensation.

"Davies," Adelaide said with a roll of her eyes and a grin.

"In the hospital wing," she said, a little contrite despite her smile. "Teddy broke his nose."

Adelaide's jaw dropped at her.

"What?" she asked. "I healed it first."

"Victoire!" Adelaide admonished playfully.

"I know, I know," Victoire admitted. "I've made a terrible mess of things."

"Well, it was always going to be a mess," Adelaide teased. "With the way you two carried on this year."

* * *

The crowd surrounding the Great Lake did not disappoint. For the Victory celebration the entirety of the school spilled out onto the green around the lake to watch the festivities. Students, ghosts, and professors all in their most festive wear celebrated raucously with sparklers and Exploding Snaps in anticipation of the night's display. The merfolk joined them too, floating at the edge of the lake along with the Giant Squid, reminding the students that the effects of that battle reached far within the realms of Hogwarts—far past them. The centaurs too, now led by Firenze, watched from the edge of the forest, and sent flaming arrows into the sky at the setting sun, indicating the start of the spectacle. At his signal, George Weasley released the first Whiz-bang from his perch in the Astronomy Tower, and the Catherine wheel cast a red glow over the crowd—always red, the first one, for the red of light of Harry's 'expeliarmus' that saved them all.

Teddy stood at the back of the crowd, just at the bottom on the grand marble stairs that led into the castle, with Michael at his side. Kieran, rather roguishly, had taken off with Adelaide the moment he saw her.

"Hi," came a gentle voice behind him. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hey," he said, chancing a glance at Victoire.

"I'll, uh, I'll just head over here," Michael said, and walked over toward the lake, grinning at Teddy as he left.

When he looked at her, she bit her lip and tucked her hair behind her ear, looking down at the ground the whole while. He didn't recognize this shade of her. She seemed… shy? Was this shy? Until that moment he never could've imagined a shy bone in her body.

He looked around, realizing she was quite alone in the crowd of students and faculty that had gathered 'round the Great Lake.

"Where's Davies?" he asked her, hoping he kept his anticipation well hidden.

"Oh, err… over there," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the crowd.

"You going to go join him?" he asked, emboldened by her general disregard for his whereabouts.

She emitted a sharp bark of a laugh, and said with a wry grin, "Uh, no. I fucked that situation up pretty nicely."

"Oh?" he asked, and knew immediately that his excitement was evident.

She ran a hand through her hair, tossing the blonde strands from one shoulder to the other. "Yeah, when I went to check on him earlier after…" She glanced up at him and blushed. "After I saw you. I wasn't really thinking all too clearly. And I basically said, 'Hi, how's your nose? Oh, by the way, we're through.'"

Teddy laughed fully, unable to contain his mirth. "How tactful of you," he teased.

"Yeah, well, I was still kind of reeling… I was a little out of sorts," she said defensively, although she smiled at his laughter.

"Only a little?" he asked, grinning. "S'pose I didn't do a very good job then, did I?"

She swatted at him playfully before mumbling shyly, "You did a plenty good job. Gave me lots to think about."

"Yeah?" he asked, a little humbler now, worried by her words. He hadn't shown her how he felt just to scare her off. "Good thoughts or bad?"

"I dunno," she said, biting her lip. "Good, I think… I dunno, I've never… I mean, no one's ever…"

Teddy's brow furrowed lightly. "You mean… you and Davies—you never?"

Victoire shook her head and stuffed her hands in her pockets, but she was laughing lightly. "No, I wouldn't let him… Truth be told, I was only interested in having him around 'cause I couldn't be with you."

He beamed at this, his ego surging at the thought. "So I…?"

She nodded, knowing where his question led. "Yeah, only you."

_Only him_. Teddy liked the sound of that.

A contented quiet settled between them as they watched whiz-bang after whiz-bang set off in the sky.

"Does it ever seem silly to you?" she asked, her voice like a breeze at his ear. "That we celebrate it like this? …I always wondered if you thought we should be more somber."

Teddy shook his head, grinning at her. "Nah, I think they would've loved it—Mum especially."


	6. Sixth Year: Part Four- Deleted Scene

**Hello all! At the start of the last chapter, I mentioned I was considering posting a scene or two that I cut out of Sixth Year: Part Four. A good amount of you expressed an interest in seeing them, so I thought I'd go ahead and post this one. (It's the only one that doesn't affect the direction of the story.)**

**This was intended to take place on Teddy's birthday, after he thanks Victoire rather affectionately for the concert tickets. It continues, from Davies' perspective, right when Teddy's sight of the two of them ended. **

* * *

_**April**_

Adam relaxed a little as his arm locked around her. Blonde, and flushed, and blue-eyed all wrapped in his arm.

"He wants you, you know," he said to her quietly, discreetly as they entered the student-filled hall.

You want him too, he thought when a small smile lit her lips.

She laughed at the suggestion. "No, I can tell you with great certainty that he doesn't."

His brow arched and he scoffed lightly in disbelief. "You must not be looking very closely. It's fairly palpable. In fact, I've had more than one bloke ask me if you were shagging him on the side."

"_Shagging_?" she asked, a little scandalized by the suggestion. And he smiled at the enigma of her—he was spellbound by it, in point of fact—how much older she appeared, how maturely she handled herself (that knowing smile when he hardened as they kissed), and her inexorable innocence.

It was the puzzle of her that intrigued him, how she was simultaneously sex against his tongue and pure beyond thought. And the closer to her he grew, the further he became from solving it.

"I told them I'd deduct house points if they were so rude towards you again," he said, his voice reassuring in her ear. "But I do think the only reason it's not him with his arm around you right now is because your father told him he couldn't be with you."

She looked up at him, a promising spark emerging from the dark in her eye. "My Da told me not to be with you either."

"And who are you to do as you're told?" he teased. "Always up to trouble—I should've given you detention a dozen times over."

"I think," she said, stopping and drawing him to her, "that you like the trouble."

He grinned. She argued with him too—no one else ever did once they got down to the matter and had to stand in the face intellectually calculating nature.

"I'm Head Boy," he said with the pretense of dismissing the thought, but was belied by the look in his eyes as he pressed her into the wall, his arm coming to rest against the stone beside her.

"Mhmm," she said, her fingers playing at his tie. "And I've never seen this Head Boy come undone so quickly as when you got that Howler from your mother saying I was outrageously young for you. Or don't you remember?"

He couldn't forget. They'd been in the library, studying, when it came. She'd been in the stacks searching for a book, but had heard well enough that she was already flushed with laughter when he came to apologize.

"I don't care," she said when he had, still enjoying the joke of it. "I don't think either of us are here to make our parents happy."

She had turned back toward the books, her lovely eyes scanning the titles, her delicate fingers brushing over the spines, but it was her skirt that caught his attention. It had spun up away from her legs when she moved, and the peak at her thighs spurred him to rest his hand at her hip. She smiled to herself at his touch, but kept her attention on the books.

"You don't mind that I'm older?" he asked, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder. He was so fond of the smell of her—lavender and vanilla and indefinable _her_.

She leaned into him and he tried desperately to hold onto that sense of her, but when she looked over her shoulder to smile at him, he lost his grasp and she was beyond his reach once again.

"Do you know how the boys my age react to me?" she asked, her voice a touch bitter. "Yesterday, I asked my Potions partner to pass me some Gillyweed—he accidentally touched my hand and went beet red—started shaking so much he dropped the entire vial. And last weekend I wished Robbie Parker good luck before the Quidditch match, and he told me if I really wanted to ensure him luck I'd give him head in the locker room." She shook her head, "I _prefer_ that you're older."

She nestled into him further, her arse settling against him in a manner that made his breath hitch. He straightened up and hoped she didn't notice—too late. She did it again, and he hardened beneath her.

"What was it that Howler called us together?" she hummed. "There were quite a few choice words…"

And her hips turned as if to music, moving against him 'til his breath grew unsteady and his hand rose to her breast, seeking, teasing in time with her. And her lips murmured at his ear, so low and wanton he perceived her as a dream at the back of his mind, whispering the words that licked like desire along his skin: forbidden, unthinkable, taboo…

His hand at her breast abandoned the soft, plying flesh and descended past her hips to the start of her skirt, ran his thumb over the waistband, asking… But she shook her head minutely, and returned his hand to her chest.

She knew there were a wealth of feelings promised to her on the other side of that touch, but she also knew it would render her vulnerable, reveal more than if she stood naked before him. And she much preferred the power of this older boy, this handsome boy, _Head Boy_ unraveling under her influence. When she touched him in this way she could pull apart why he never gave her detention after she broke curfew—and flaunted it—, why the young barman at The Three Broomsticks passed her mulled mead with a wink, why the Bulgarian Keeper offered to show her around the camp. It was this. She was the keeper of this groaning, this moaning, this satisfaction. And they courted her because they knew how easily she could deny them—how easily she could make what they wanted hers.

"Victoire," he groaned finally. "If you continue, I'm going to come."

There was a moment before she responded where he could feel her mind working as she moved. "Do you know the charm to get rid of it after?"

He nodded, a low grunt rumbling to his lips at the tension of her against him. She rolled her arse into the warmth of him once more, and he was gone.

Adam blinked at the memory, insisting his senses focus on her as she stood before him, smiling at the bloom that had risen beneath his skin.

"All too well," he said a little ruefully and cleared his throat. "I've never thought of having—"he remembered how she teased him over the usual formality of his speech—"…of fucking a girl somewhere public before, but that night it was all I could think about."

Her brow furrowed briefly and she made a small, hesitant sound.

"I want you," he said, his free hand coming to rest at her waist, "in every way you'll let me have you. But won't ask more of you than that."

She smiled and the muscles beneath his touch relaxed. With deft hands, she loosened his tie and pulled him closer, her lips brushing sweetly over his.


	7. Summer: Part One

As it was his last summer before graduating, Teddy felt it was only right that he spend most of it at the Burrow along with the cousins. He figured he wouldn't have much the same chance to do it again—or, at least, that's what he told himself. Really, the idea of spending the entire summer with Victoire thrilled him to no end, even if they were surrounded by the enormous family.

It had been unusually warm, feeling more like the dregs of August than the end of June, and the apples in the orchard had begun to ripen prematurely. Molly, taking advantage of having twelve grandchildren plus Teddy around, sent them all out to pick any that were ripe.

Victoire was in the kitchen when Teddy returned from the orchard, a barrel full of apples under his arm. She looked up from the sink for a moment, where she was busy washing what had already been plucked, and bit her lip. The windows had all been thrown open in the attempt to catch a breeze, and the wind played at her hair, much as he would like to.

"Why didn't you levitate that?" she asked, gesturing toward the bushel, her eyes still on her work.

"I still forget sometimes," he said, watching her rinse the dirt off a granny smith apple, "that I can use it."

She nodded, her eyes catching his as she reached for some of the apples in the barrel.

She hadn't exactly been timid around him since they, uh, _spoke_ on her birthday, but she'd hardly been as bold either. It was heady to him—the way she blushed when he looked at her, as if remembering the feeling of him touching her with each glance—it made every lingering moment between the two of them seem intimate, somehow.

He had begun to wonder if he'd been a bit too forward in showing her how he felt, but she did little things to catch his attention: a touch on his knee at dinner, her fingers stroking the spot on her neck he liked to kiss. And last night, when they had gone upstairs to change, he could have sworn she'd left her door ajar intentionally.

It was the look she had given him when she turned to shut the door—not breaking eye contact, ensuring he wouldn't walk away. Only open little more than a crack—not so much that if a cousin walked by they would be caught out, but just enough for him to see the way the muscles of her back moved as she lifted her shirt over her shoulders, the sinuous curve of her waist, the soft peak of her breast.

He shook his head, realizing he had been staring at her for many minutes now, and was grateful she was focused on her task.

"Would you like some help?" he asked, his tongue still thick with daydreams.

She looked at him over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. "Sure, grab a few from the barrel. I'm almost done with these."

He did as he was told and tossed a few apples in the center of the sink for them to each draw from. She grabbed one, a golden delicious this time, and ran her thumbs over it gently beneath the water, cleansing away the silt. He took one for himself and attempted to mimic her.

"Not like that," she said quietly, noticing the work of his fingers. "You'll bruise it."

She reached for the apple, and her hands brushed against his, turning his thoughts to daydreams once again.

"Like this," she said, her fingers working gently over the peel. "Here…"

She took his left hand and drew circles over the apple with his thumb beneath hers. When she released his hand, he attempted to duplicate her movements, but clearly failed when she shook her head.

"Maybe," he murmured, "if I got a bit closer…"

He stood behind her and brought his arms around her waist, placed his hands beneath hers. She nodded, and relaxed into him, the spots of her shirt that were saturated with water now soaked him as well. With his hands in her grasp, she reached for another apple, causing him to bend over her, his chin to settle on her shoulder, and she smiled—a small and secretive smile.

"You've just got to be gentle with it," she said.

She drew small circles over the apple with his thumbs beneath her own, using only the lightest touch. And they stood there for many moments in that same attitude, washing apple after apple. He could feel her shoulders moving beneath the thin layer of her shirt against his chest, and goose bumps rose along her shoulders where the stubble of his chin grazed her skin. His mouth was so near her ear, and he longed to lean forward and whisper, _is this how you want me to touch you? Do you know where I'd usually touch you like this? Remember that sound you made when I touched you there before?_

But he refrained. He didn't want to rush her. He wasn't even sure if she thought there was anything between the two of them to rush.

"I think you've got it now," she said happily, but she made no move to release his arms from her waist.

"S'not so hard, I guess," he said, hoping she didn't hear his voice crack.

"Teddy?" she asked, her own voice a bit dreamy.

"Yeah," he said. She hadn't reached for another apple, leaving them simply with his arms around her, her hands around his.

"Is it always going to be like this now?" She brought his hand just under the curve of her left breast where he could feel her heart beating rapidly against his touch. Dimly, he wondered if she could feel his at her back.

"I dunno," he breathed. "I think that's up to you."

She turned within his grasp to face him, his arms now wrapped around her hips, his hands at the small of her back. She smiled, and he became very aware of the warmth of her, of the way her chest rose and fell with each breath.

"Granny!" came Lily's outraged little voice, carried on the breeze through the window. "Granny! James got rotten apple in my hair!"

The sound of several pairs of feet landing in the garden reached their ears, and Victoire slipped out of his touch, but not before he saw a flush rise in her cheeks.

"It was an accident," James shouted. "I meant to hit Albus!"

"And how does that make it any better, hmm?" Molly asked from the base of the stairs.

Victoire laughed at the tone of her Gran's voice, knowing full well that James was in trouble.

"Come on, all of you inside," Molly tutted. "Go wash up, and then come help Victoire and Teddy wash the apples."

As all eleven of Victoire's cousins poured into the kitchen, Teddy wondered if there was going to be another chance of the two of them being alone.

"Victoire," Lily pouted, running up to her. "Look what James did to my hair."

"Oh, don't worry," Victoire said, unable to keep the chuckle from her voice. She picked some of the larger bits of apple out of Lily's hair. "We'll go wash it out, and then we can braid it. Does that sound alright?"

Lily nodded vigorously and took Victoire's hand, leading her swiftly out of the kitchen.

Nope, Teddy realized, not a chance in hell. He smiled as a thought struck him. Not without breaking the rules, at least.


	8. Summer: Part Two

**Hello all! Before you get to reading I just wanted to say thank you to InkWeaverabc and HopelessRomantic44 for reviewing as much as they do, it's really lovely and encouraging! I intended to post this chapter next week, but after seeing InkWeaverabc's review in particular, I thought it might make for a better reading experience to post this sooner rather than later. :)**

* * *

"_Well I don't know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling that somethin' ain't right_," crooned a raspy voice over the radio.

They all crowded in the sitting room, bunched together on the floor, the chairs, the couch, in what Teddy was sure was the largest game of Gobstones he'd ever seen. Each of them had a marble in their hands, eyeing one another behind poker faces of varying success.

"_I'm so scared in case I fall off my chair, and I'm wonderin' how I'll get down the stairs_," continued the radio, a guitar strumming in accompaniment, its warm tones like a coat of butterbeer on the throat.

Roxanne jumped to her feet, her arms in the air, and cheered in triumph as her marble smacked into Fred's. An enormous streak of green goo was launched at her brother, who was now out.

"Not fair," called James indignantly.

"Bullocks!" countered Dominique.

Lucy launched a fistful of popcorn at James in defense of Roxanne, and Teddy watched Victoire through a haze of snack food, cousins, and revelry. A pack of Exploding Snaps they had been playing with earlier was still letting off smoke in the corner. She looked up from the game and smiled at him—tucking her hair behind her ear, her fingers playing at her fang earing distractedly.

"_Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you_."

He ran his thumb against the underside of his lip as a spark grew in her eye, and his gaze traveled to her chest, her waist, her legs. She crossed them as he looked at her, squirming in her seat between her sister and Molly II, a blush rising up her cheeks.

He leaned forward in his chair, Fred and James seated on each arm, and grinned devilishly.

"_Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you. And I'm wonderin' what it is I should do_."

"You look fit," Teddy mouthed. It was pretty daring to do in front of all the cousins, he knew, but they were far too distracted by the game to notice what was going on.

He only had enough time to see her eyebrow arch before Fred called out, "Your turn, Ted!"

"_It's so hard to keep this smile from my face. Losin' control, and I'm all over the place."_

Teddy eyed the marbles across the table. It'd be easy to knock out Lucy's in the outer-most ring. But, he thought as he chanced a look at Victoire, he didn't want easy.

He tossed his marble to the hard wood surface and it bounced with great energy over the first two rings, spinning into Albus' which launched, with a resounding thunk, into Victoire's.

"Oo-hoo, bad luck there, Victoire," said James smugly as her marble turned in its place.

"_Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right. Here I am, stuck in the middle with you_."

At the challenge, he saw some of the newfound shyness ebb away and her typical attitude returned to her in the form of a wide, leering smile.

"Nice hit," she said to Teddy, and for a moment he thought he'd won. That is, until she flipped her hair casually over her shoulder. But that only pleased him further—he quite liked this side of her. "Are you sure of it?"

"Yeah," he said. Win or loose, he'd caught her attention.

She nodded and tapped her second marble with her thumb, releasing it onto the board, looking at him the whole while.

It landed with hardly a sound, rolling with the tilt of the old, battered table and caught Teddy's. The momentum caused his marble to take off with hers, spinning and turning until it found her other marble with a resounding smack.

"Oh shit," said Fred, knowing precisely what was coming.

Teddy's marble rounded on him and spat, in a rather undignified manner, the characteristically sticky slime at him. He attempted to dodge out of its way, but only got far enough for it to land in his hair instead of his face. Victoire's nose wrinkled at it and she smiled sympathetically.

"Come on," she said, getting to her feet, her eyes dancing with mischief. "I'll help you get cleaned up."

Oh, I dunno, he thought with a look at her, I wouldn't mind getting a little dirtier.

He scooped some of the lime green goo out of his hair. "Yeah, s'pose I could use some."

"Didn't see you offering to help when you knocked me out," Fred said, turning to his sister.

Roxanne eyed her brother, his shirt still covered in goo. "I think the slimy look suits you. Makes you look like the bogey you are."

When they entered the kitchen there were clear signs of Mrs. Weasley at work—a pot of boiled potatoes rumbling softly on the stove, an apple pie cooling on the windowsill, and several heads of lettuce chopping themselves on the table. It looked as if she had just stepped out.

Victoire reached for the tea towel that hung below the sink and soaked it under the tap.

"Nice of you not to show off being of age in front of them," she said, dabbing at the slime in his hair. "Although, it would be easier to do this with your wand."

Teddy took a seat at the table and shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to get you alone in the kitchen again."

She laughed, and his blood stirred at the sight of it—the way her lips parted when she smiled, how she leaned into the joy. Her eyes caught his. "I'm sure there's a less messy way of doing so."

"What? You don't like the mess?" he asked, beaming. He threw his arms out around her waist and brought her into his lap.

He was rewarded with a shriek of surprise followed quickly by a wealth of giggles.

"You don't like the mess?" he repeated, teasing her as he nuzzled into the graceful curve of her neck, the slime now attached to her hair as well.

She squirmed in his lap as his lips brushed the hollow of her clavicle. Warm in his arms, she made no move to stand, and he reveled in the weight of her against him.

"Teddy, stop!" she said, her voice high and breathless with delight. "You know I'm ticklish there!"

"Mhmm, and I know how you like it there after the ticklish feeling passes," he said, his lips waking the nerves beneath her skin.

She pulled away slightly, and the left corner of her mouth quirked upward, her lips spreading into a wide, lopsided smirk. He warmed at that look; he only every saw her make it when she was especially pleased with an idea. He settled his chin on her shoulder, waiting for the reply. But her eyes widened before her lips formed the words, and she jumped out of his lap.

"Gran," she said quickly. "I was just—"

Teddy turned his head slowly, using the bulk of his concentration to keep his hair from turning a bright, bubblegum pink. When he finally met Molly's gaze he saw she hardly looked surprised—no, that was a knowing look.

Molly shook her head, quieting Victoire with a smile. "Why don't you two help with supper, hmm? Teddy, could you take these?" she asked, gesturing to the bushel of corn in her arms. "And Victoire, why don't you shuck them."

Victoire nodded, her cheeks still pink with surprise, and settled into the table. She reached for the first ear, her hand brushed Teddy's, and while it was only the briefest moment of contact, her breath halted in her throat. When, she wondered, would she be used to him again? He'd said it was up to her, but somehow she doubted that.

Molly smiled, amused by Victoire's lingering brush. It wasn't like her eldest grandchild to be shy.

"Don't worry," she said, her voice warm and soothing. "There isn't one of my children I didn't catch snogging—even Percy, if you'd believe it."

"We weren't snogging," Victoire mumbled quietly.

A loud crack like a car backfiring shot through the kitchen and Victoire looked up to see her grandfather.

"Evening, Weasleys," he said cheerily. He looked between his wife, Teddy, and Victoire. "Have I missed something?"

Molly kissed his cheek. "Not a thing, dear. Just assuring these two they aren't the first we've caught flirting under this roof."

"I wish that's all we'd caught her parents doing," he said quietly to Molly.

She smiled ruefully. "Teddy, could you strain the potatoes?"

"Of course." He looked around for the tea towel and spotted it beside Victoire, still partially covered in Gobstone slime. Reaching for it, he leaned over her, his hand resting on her shoulder to keep him steady. She wanted to curl into the warmth of him, wrap herself in his fingers. His hand lifted from her as he grabbed the towel and turned toward the stove. It was an innocent little touch, an instinctual reach for her.

It became a series of innocent little touches. His hand at her hip when he moved around her in the kitchen. Hers in his hair to brush out a bit of husk. He righted the strap of her top when it fell to her arm. She wiped the smudge of stolen pie filling from his lip.

And then it was more. She whispered in his ear while they set the table, her lips hovering just above the spot that made him groan. His eyes lingered with dark intent on her mouth 'til a blush rose to her cheeks. Her foot edged its way up his pant leg beneath the dinner table, reminding him of their legs tangled together between sheets. His hand rested on her knee, then higher—tracing little circles with his thumb as her neared the hem of her skirt.

Later, she lay in her cot, her hand resting in the hollow between her hips. Her fingers mimicked those same little circles, edging around the band of her pajama shorts. Despite the open window, the air was thick with the warmth of summer, and her bones were restless within their skin. She felt constricted by the room, not because of its size but by the two cousins and one sister she shared it with. Her feet slipped out from beneath the thin sheet and she twisted through and around the space, narrowly missing the other beds.

It hadn't been a conscious thought—to step out into the hall and reach for the attic stairs, pull herself up the worn wood ladder and into the room.

The ghoul who inhabited the space during her father's childhood was gone; nothing of him remained beside an unwavering chill. She welcomed it, pleased as it pulled goose bumps to the surface of her skin. There was only enough space for a cot plus a little headroom, causing Teddy to be—mercifully, wonderfully—alone.

"Victoire?" came his voice through the still night air, his eyes fuzzy with sleep.

She pulled up the stairs behind her and shut the door. Crouching over it, she didn't dare go further. It hadn't occurred to her what the sight of him would do to her focus, how it would knock the words from her tongue.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, his mouth spreading into a drowsy grin. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she said quietly.

She stood and shuffled forward in the dark, her eyes taking their time to adjust to the moonlight spilt from the miniature window.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked, watching her move.

She smiled. "Do you often dream of me?"

"All the time," he said, his eyes growing wide as she took a seat at the very edge of his bed.

"You're not dreaming," she said gently. "I just... couldn't sleep."

"Oh, yeah?" he asked, his mind now rising to wakefulness. "Why not?"

"What do I do in your dreams?" she asked by way of answer, knowing rather clearly what she did by the manner in which his Adam's apple bobbed at his throat.

He chuckled under his breath and ran both hands through his hair. "Ah... you really know how to ware at my will power, huh?" He shook his head. "You're not ready for what we do in my dreams."

Despite the dim light, he saw her brow furrow and her arms cross over her chest. "I think I want it—all of it. When you touch me I want to be lost in it."

He stared at her. He could hardly believe she was there; her silky, platinum hair unbound and tempting, her smooth, soft skin—more than he was accustomed to seeing—just at the edge of his fingers. Never once had he imagined she'd crawl into his room at night and ask to breath life into his dreams. He could just see the shape of her mouth, the swells of rosy flesh pouting, inviting.

"And will you want it in the morning?" he asked quietly.

"I know I'll want you, that I'll want to be with you" she said, her voice steady and sure. "Is that not the same thing?"

He smiled, rather fond of her answer. "It's close."

"It's not like you've given me much a chance to really analyze it," she said. "You've only done it that once."

He crooked his head to the side as wonder dawned on him. "Yeah, but... have you never touched yourself before?"

Warmth rushed over her skin at his words. But she thought slinking atop him was only the best course of action in a certain light. She breathed deeply to collect herself. "Of course, I have… But it's not the same feeling as what you did. Just as there'd be a difference if I… if I touched you."

His jaw dropped open and he gaped at her for a moment before he caught himself. _If I touched you._ And he thought of her in his bed, flushed, covered in a thin layer of sweat, panting, trembling, coming, and her fingers finding him hard, tightening around him, all his blood rushing to her touch, and her mouth…_ her mouth… _He didn't know quite how he'd expected her to answer. But she was right. "Um, yes, but...what I—what we did on your birthday was only the start of it."

"I know," she said, relaxing against the bed frame. "I realized that when you stopped. I knew there had to be much more."

Yeah, you know, he thought. But I want you to love me, not just want to fuck me. Teddy's brow crossed. Where that came from, he had no idea.

He nodded. "But do you know what the more is?"

"No," she nearly whispered. "But I'm not asking you to take me now… I'd be happy with a kiss."

"Yeah?" he asked, leering.

She bit her lip and nodded. "Yeah," she breathed, and he tugged gently at her ankles, asking permission. When she nodded again, he pulled her to him 'til she was settled in his lap.

Her nerves buzzed, hummed, flickered at this new touch, and instinctually, her core sought his, shifting over his hips until they were aligned. An insisting warmth rose from him to meet her and she gasped.

"You're…" she breathed.

He nodded against her shoulder, trying to contain himself as best he could. "Yeah."

She raised her hand tentatively, hovering just above him. And then her hands splayed out over his back, her fingers traced the shape of his broad shoulder, and ran along his spine. He shivered beneath her. She had never felt this much of his skin before and found herself greedy with the want of it.

His touch skimmed over her neck, her breast, her waist 'til it steadied on her hip—tracing the curve, the goose bump covered skin, asking, waiting.

"Yes," she whispered, her breath reaching forward to tease the nerves that lined his lips.

His fingers sunk lightly into her flesh, prompting her closer, and she wrapped her legs around him. His lips brushed over hers delicately, a tempting little kiss, filled with the knowledge of all he could do, all he could make her feel. She shook slightly at the promise of it, and he kissed her more fiercely—his lips working against hers, biting gently while his hand tangled in her hair. And she returned the attention with great fervor, her tongue flicking over the seam of his lips, teasing, inviting 'til they parted with a groan. She licked along the underside of his in long, languorous movements, sucking lightly as she went, and his hand at her hip dug into her skin, bringing the crux of her thighs to his.

Yes, closer—she wanted closer—to feel his flesh, hard with wanting, against the slickness of her. Her hands dug at his back, her hips rolled against his, and she felt impossibly frustrated at the fabric that separated them. A low, guttural growl rumbled from his mouth to hers as she continued to buck against him. And she became no more than a frenzy of nerves: fingers at his waistband, lips at his ear, a bite along the neck, a crush of the hips, a moan, a cry, a sigh.

"Oh," she gasped when the pad of his fingers closed around the crest of her breast and pulled. It shocked her—the pleasure of the pain—and she pulled away.

"Sorry, sorry," Teddy said quickly. "I hope I didn't hurt you."

She shook her head, dazed. "No… no, I liked it." She withdrew further to the protest of her nerves, which surged toward the part of her that wanted him most, reminding her of what was almost done, and she shuddered.

"How do you do that?" She felt suddenly shy, and looked up at him through the curls of her hair.

His eyes were wide as he looked between them, seeing now what they had done with a clear mind. He stared at her, enthralled by the flush at her cheeks, the blue of her eyes. "Do what?"

"I can't…" she began, her voice husky. She swallowed thickly. "I would've done anything you'd ask me to then… I wouldn't have known how to stop—I wouldn't have wanted to either."

Teddy nodded. Anything; the word stretched across his mind like a caress, lingered in the soft, pink corners and showed him the one word that mattered: everything—that's what he wanted to give her.

"Slower," she said, her mind collecting itself. She looked into his eyes now. "Would you mind it terribly?"

He shook his head quickly. "Of course not." He looked down at his hands, which still longed to touch her, then back up at her. "Can I hold you, is that ok?"

She hesitated, and he saw her teeth peek out and bite at her lower lip before she nodded. "Yeah."

He relaxed against his headboard and she leaned into his arms, her head settling against his chest, his chin on her forehead as they drifted to sleep.


	9. Summer: Part Three

She woke just before dawn: her legs woven with Teddy's, his arms enclosed around her. He woke when she slid away from his touch: cold air filling the void of her. His brow furrowed as he reached for her, the sleep of his mind only seeing a need for her to come back to bed. She giggled and spun away from his grasp.

"And how much longer d'you think Gran would be understanding if she found me in your bed?" she whispered.

He nodded, his eyes half closed with sleep, but pulled her closer still to lay a quick kiss on her mouth. He slouched back into his bed once he released her lips, and only just managed to hear the attic door shut before he was asleep again.

When the sun shown through the small, triangular window near the foot of his bed, he slowly, begrudgingly opened his eyes. He hadn't wanted to leave the wonderful dream of having her—in his bed, sleeping in his arms. He rolled over onto the other pillow and realized with a start that it hadn't been a dream. No, dreams do not leave the scent of their shampoo on your pillow, nor a blonde hair.

He sat up slowly, his eyes widening. It was real. She had crept into his room last night, he had asked her if she'd ever touched herself (fuck if he knew what possessed him to do that). They had kissed and nearly more. And she'd decided she wanted to take things slowly. He rubbed his hands over his face, smiling—he was pleased that they were moving at all.

But would she feel that way now, he wondered—now that the sun had risen and she could look at him without the heady flirtations and cloaked intentions of the night before?

He sighed and tucked a shirt over his head before slowly making his way to the kitchen. The cousins were buzzing about the halls, teasing and joking with each other—their heads leaning over banisters to shout a quip at another two floors below—and it struck him faintly as odd that such a massive change had occurred in his life and theirs hadn't altered at all. (Dimly, he also realized the small sadness that he would not see them overlap at Hogwarts and watch them carry on with this same behavior between dormitories and house tables, Quidditch stands and Potions lessons.) As he descended the stairs, he realized one cousin in particular was missing from the rabble—the one he wanted most to see.

He found her on the couch in the sitting room, slowly being wakened by her Gran.

"Ginny did always mention that it could get very hot in that room," Molly cooed sympathetically.

Victoire quickly stood, and for a moment she reminded Teddy of a colt, long arms and legs and wobbly in her stance. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her pajamas eschew across her hips as she followed Molly into the kitchen, lured by the promise of bacon and griddlecakes.

He followed her, hoping to catch a moment alone, but Louis and Hugo rushed by him upon hearing their grandmother mention bacon, with Albus hot on their tails.

"You alright, Teddy?" Lucy asked as she, Molly II, and Dominique came down the stairs.

"Yeah," he said, his voice cracking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Better move quick, mate," said James, pushing past the girls with Fred. "It's survival of the fittest for Nan's bacon."

Teddy nodded, but didn't move as they all walked past him into the kitchen. He stared at the spot where she had slept, fascinated by the further evidence that it hadn't been a dream. She really had been in his bed—and left it in the early morning.

A part of him wondered why this ensnared him so completely. Other girls had slept in his bed, some more than once, and he had been thrilled by it, but never had he reacted like this.

He shook his head, sure it would be clearer with a little breakfast in him.

"Morning, dear," Molly greeted him as he entered the kitchen. "Sausage or bacon?"

"Sausage, please," said Teddy, his mouth watering. "Did Granda Weasley leave for work already?"

"No," said Molly with a huff. "He's set about tinkering with the old car again. I do wish he wouldn't bother. Hermione said it's out of shape even by Muggle standards."

He took a plate of griddlecakes and sausage from her grasp and turned toward the table. He realized, with a start, that the only available seat was beside Victoire, as the cousins were so accustomed to them sitting together no one had thought to break the pattern. Any why would they? It wasn't as if they knew that just a few hours before she'd been in his lap, legs around his waist, hips rocking into his, lips sucking at his— Nope, Teddy blinked to recall his focus, not appropriate for breakfast.

He slipped into the chair beside her, brushing her as he did, and he saw a faint blush rise beneath her clear skin. There was a lingering mark at the base of her neck, and he realized it must've been his.

Victoire settled her hair on her shoulder, hiding it. She looked at him over the rim of her teacup shyly, eyes filled with mirth.

"Sleep well last night?" he asked surreptitiously.

She nodded and smiled that small, secretive smile he felt nearly compelled to kiss in order to solve its riddle. But it disappeared too quickly. "Yeah, once I got settled, I slept very well. You?"

He shook his head and cut into his griddlecake with the side of his fork. "No, I didn't do much sleeping."

Her eyes widened and she became rather focused on the leaves at the base of her teacup.

"Bad dreams, maybe?" she asked, still not looking at him.

He chuckled and took a bite of his sausage. "Best dreams I've ever had, actually. That's what kept me up. They seemed so real."

Out of the side of his eye he watched her teeth sink into the pillowy flesh of her bottom lip, and the memory of the feel of that lip caused the nerves at the tips of his fingers to ache—so ready were they to reach out and touch her. His stomach swooped at the feeling, and his anxiety that she wouldn't want him returned.

"There's usually some truth to the dreams we remember," she said quietly, pushing a bit of griddlecake around in the pool of maple syrup on her plate.

He stole a glance at her. "You think so?"

"What's wrong with you two?" Dominique asked, her narrow eyes looking between Teddy and Victoire at the odd conversation. But Teddy was saved from answering, as in that same moment, Hugo, who had just finished inhaling his second round of griddlecakes and bacon, had turned to his Grandmother and asked, "Nan, are there eggs?"

To which Louis added, "Oh, yeah, eggs! Can we have eggs, Gran? And maybe some of those fried apples you made last night?"

"Cochon," Dominique said to her brother.

Molly laughed. "If one of you would gather a few from the hen coop—"

"I'll do it," Teddy said, leaping to his feet. He wanted to delay the 'no' he was sure was coming as long as possible.

He was out the backdoor, Wellies tucked on hastily, and past the garden before Molly had the chance to tell him how many eggs to collect.

Damn, he was screwed. Slower, she'd said—how long would it be 'til she didn't want him at all?

He was standing under the hickory tree, the chickens pecking at the seeds around his feet, contemplating how much he fucked up, when he heard her. It was a little squeal of delight as she ran toward him, and then, "catch!"

She was in his arms before he knew what hit him, her legs bound around his torso, his grip locked under her bum. Her hands played at his hair, and she kissed him fiercely—the surprise, the wanting, the warmth of the night before all there between their lips.

He pulled away to see her smile, and her forehead settled against his.

"You sure?" he asked, wondering how she managed to make him so nervous.

Her laughter tickled his stubble-strewn cheeks, and she wrapped herself tighter around him.

"Do I seem unsure?" she teased, and kissed along his jaw, nipping just below his ear.

No, she wasn't unsure. Overwhelmed, maybe? Close, she thought, but that had a negative connotation that certainly didn't fit. Whatever it was, she had been dizzy with it from the moment she crawled out of his bed. Down on the couch in the sitting room, she had drifted in and out of sleep—her mind a Teddy-tinged fog that she was all too happy to curl up into. Slower, she'd said, and was glad she did. Her mind reeled at the lack of control she'd had over her body—how her skin had leapt toward even the suggestion of his touch. Frenzy? Was that it?

She certainly felt frenzied, her breath quickening and spiraling from her mouth in a high, flushed gasp, as his fingers dug into the flesh of her arse and a low, hungry groan met her lips. But as apt as it was, it didn't encompass the feeling that welled within her at the nearness of him.

He turned and leaned her against the tree, and his mouth descended to the ticklish spot of her neck, right where her hair tapered away to reveal thin, vulnerable skin.

And that was how Dominique found them: her sister shrieking and giggling under Teddy's attention, Teddy flushed and chuckling, wrapped in her legs.

"Really?" she asked the two of them with a roll of her eyes.

Victoire's head snapped up at the sound of her sister's voice.

"Are you going to tell?" she asked without preamble, Teddy gently setting her on her feet.

Molly II laughed as she came up behind Dominique. "Is your hair pink, Teddy?"

Teddy's eyes widened, wondering how many more cousins would come spilling out of the kitchen, but calmed at the site of the rest still seated at the table through the window. He glanced up at the hair that spilled across his forehead. It was, in deed, a bright, bubblegum pink. And his nose scrunched up as he concentrated on turning it back to blue.

"Clearly, no need to ask why it was pink," Molly said with as a lark to Dominique.

"Clearly," Dominique agreed, and they set about gathering eggs.

"Does this sort of thing happen often at Hogwarts?" Molly asked Dominique. She was only a few months away from her first year, and had taken to collecting as much information as she could about the place.

"Yes," Dominique said, casting a look at the two of them. "But very rarely in Ravenclaw."

"Good," Molly said with a bright smile—she and Dominique had decided it was a certainty she'd be sorted into the house of blue and bronze.

Victoire snorted. "Depends on the Ravenclaw."

Teddy eyed her as she bent over to grab a pale brown egg. He'd somehow forgotten she'd been with Davies. Jealously, thick and cloying, coated his insides, and he—

But the feeling was instantly forgotten when she looked up at him and her wide, mocking mouth broke into a grin.

"How did you manage to get leaves in your hair?" she asked, brushing them away.

A little hum of satisfaction escaped him as her fingers ran through his hair, and he draped an arm around her waist, languid with the close warmth of her.

"I'm not going to tell," Dominique said, looking up at them, breaking his happy, lazy focus on her sister once again. "But you won't be fooling anyone if you keep on like that—except James, maybe."


	10. Summer: Part Four

_**July**_

Victoire lay in the tall grass beyond the swimming pond, numbed into a tangible stillness by the bright July sun. A hapless breeze stirred the reeds above her head, and the shushing hush of their movement kept her from noticing the nearness of Teddy until he reclined into the green beside her.

He was cool against her skin, like water lapping at her senses. His fingers trailed over her collarbone, and she rose to him with the inevitable pull of the tide.

"Hmmm," she cooed contentedly, a slow, lazy smile stretching her lips. She didn't mind waking so much when what lay on the other side of her eyelid was kin to her dream.

She parted one eye to see the sun eclipsed by him, the shades of blue in his hair revealed to her as the light passed through it. Her fingers curled around the lock that spilled over his forehead, and she giggled quietly with delight.

"What?" he asked, grinning at her. It always stunned him—the irrepressible loveliness of her when she smiled at him only.

She cuddled into his leg, the denim of his jeans soft on her cheek as she rested her head in his lap.

"I got my way," she said with a self-satisfied smirk.

He laughed, the deep, melodious chuckle carried on the wind over the grass to the kitchen windows where some of her aunts and uncles had started to gather.

"Which time?" he asked, his fingers now skimming her side, sliding down the curve where her shoulder descended to her waist then ascended to her hip.

"With you," she said, a shiver passing through her at his touch. "I got you."

"Well, if it was me or your stubbornness, there's a clear winner there," he said, smiling wryly at her.

She skated her fingernails over the fabric that covered the muscle at the crux of his legs.

"I had help on the inside too," she said smugly, then erupted into laughter at her own awful joke.

"Careful," he said, inhaling sharply when her fingers continued. "You don't know what you're playing at."

"I have some idea," she cooed, "but I'm sure you'll show me."

"I'll be showing you a lot more in a minute if you don't stop," he said, moving slightly as his breath hitched.

He pulsed beneath her, and remembering that night—the heady pleasure that caused her to want only one end—she released him. But the daring look in her eyes remained, teasing him as it spilled into her smile, and he realized it would be up to him to keep the promise of slower.

"Your Gran said everyone'll be here soon," he said, standing, and offered an arm to her. "I was s'posed to tell the little ones to wash up."

She took his hand and was soon on her feet. "And instead you decided to come flirt with me? I see where your priorities are, Lupin."

He draped an arm around her neck and kissed her forehead briefly. "Yeah, right where you want them to be."

They walked this way until the house grew near and the sounds of her cousins reached their ears. He let go of her and attempted to draw himself straight. But from the kitchen, her mother could see how they moved in reaction to each other, the slight touches that passed between them with an air of comfortable intimacy.

Fleur laughed. She knew her daughter very well—well enough to know there was no swaying the single-minded determination in her eyes when she looked at Teddy. She had told her husband as much, but he was very English, believed in calmly explaining the many reasons why the pair shouldn't be together and when that didn't work, loudly forbidding it. Yes, she thought when the pair tucked in for a quick kiss, that was working out very well for him.

It had been the same for her. When she graduated and informed her parents she had accepted an assistant position at Gringotts, they balked at the idea: _In London? But it iz so dirty zere. You do not need to work! An assistant? You are a Tri-Wizard Champion, mon cher, you assist no one._

Finally, her mother had narrowed her eyes and said, Iz zis about zat man? Ze one with red 'air and le croc?

_I saw him. I wanted him. I made him mine, and that he'll stay_. She expected nothing less from her daughter.

Her husband came up beside her and looked out the window to see their children, his siblings' children playing in the field and trees. James jumped from his broom and tumbled smoothly to the ground, bouncing up onto his feet with a flourish. Victoire snatched his broom out of the air, and Teddy launched her toward it. She landed easily, and flew around James, rubbing in that she nicked his broom.

"I don't like that he looks at her," Bill said, his eye still on the scene in the yard.

"Who? James?" she asked.

"Teddy," he said tersely.

Fleur shook her head and looked up at her husband. "Iz he supposed to look at her shoes?"

"He could avoid her general direction."

She laughed fully. How was her husband, so cool under pressure he was a professional curse breaker, this riled by a seventeen-year-old boy being fond of their daughter?

"You weell come to appreciate him when we go to France," she said. "Men weell approach her, zey weell want _her_. But zey won't see her, only zeir desire and her—a vessel for it."

He turned to look at her sharply, alarmed at the calm in her voice. "Why are you certain of this?"

"Becauze it happened to me and my sister, my mozer and grandmozer. It iz a part of being Veela," she said. "And she'll laugh off zeir attention, and you'll shout zem away in your awful French—"

"My French isn't awful," he mumbled.

She ran her fingers affectionately through the long hair at the nape of his neck. "It iz—and you'll be 'appy it's ze boy who's practically family she's thinking of."

"I still think you're quite cavalier about the two of them. Their age difference hasn't changed just because she's a year older," he said, relaxing as she brought an arm around his waist.

"Do you remember how much I liked zat you are _seven _years older zan me?" she said, smiling.

"Yes, that's what worries me."

A great shout from the yard caught their attention, and they turned in time to see Victoire and Teddy carrying a wounded Hugo toward the house.

"What happened?" asked Hermione once they'd reached the kitchen.

"Someone," said Rose with a roll of her eyes, "decided the Muggle law of gravity didn't apply to him because he is a wizard, and attempted to jump from the top of the oak tree onto his broom."

"Lucky I changed my mind on the way down," said Hugo with a lazy smile as his Gran handed him an ice pop to soothe the cut in his lip.

"Lucky Teddy caught you," replied his sister.

Even so, he was covered in scrapes, cuts and the deep red promise of newly forming bruises—evidence of where he'd hit branches during his descent. Hermione was busy rotating his arm and poking at his ribs to check for broken bones, fussing at the ailments she found.

"Just because your father or I can fix you up in a heartbeat doesn't mean you don't have to be careful," she tutted. "The way I grew up—"

"But I'm not growing up the way you did, Mum," Hugo interjected, wincing when she passed her wand over an especially deep cut. Several splinters wiggled up through his skin toward her wand, like magnets reacting to the pull of another. "And I haven't done anything yet that you haven't been able to fix."

"Yet?" asked Hermione with an edge in her voice. She leaned back to better examine her son. "And just what are you planning on doing?"

"Well, James said—" Hugo began.

"Oh, hell," said Harry.

"—that if I set the twigs of the broom on fire it'll go faster," he continued.

"No," said Hermione simply.

Hugo looked to Ron over her shoulder. "But Da—"

"You heard your Mum," said Ron. "Try it and you won't touch a broom 'til you come of age."

"Fine," Hugo pouted at his parents unwavering agreement.

Hermione waved her wand over her son once more before saying, "Why don't you follow your sister and get ready for dinner?"

"Alright," he mumbled, his hands now sticky and blue with the remnants of his ice pop, and trudged off toward the stairs.

"Merlin's beard," Ron said to Harry when Hugo cleared the room. "You think he'd have actually done it?"

"Nah," said Harry. "Hermione would've caught him before he had the chance."

The crowded kitchen returned to its ordinary din as more aunts and uncles arrived for dinner and cousins came traipsing through to rinse the dirt off their hands.

Victoire and Teddy, Harry noticed, had settled into a dark corner where he could hardly tell if they were talking or snogging. Bill, it seemed, had noticed too, and was trying to make his way to them.

"Teddy," Harry called across the kitchen to see a shock of turquoise hair emerge from the dark. "Come help me with the…" he said, and trailed off, as he hadn't thought of a reason before he'd begun.

But it was enough for Teddy, who turned to smile at Victoire before following Harry into the sitting room.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you needed help with," he said, looking a bit confused when Harry turned around to face him in the center of the room.

Harry didn't reply immediately, only grinned at Teddy.

"So…" he said finally.

"So…?" asked Teddy.

"The two of you—are you…?"

Teddy began to catch on and realized Harry was clearly a long way away from knowing how to have this conversation. The smile on his godfather's face seemed to teeter somewhere between a proud older brother and a responsible parent, unsure which side to give in to.

"Are we together?" Teddy asked for him.

"Well… yeah," said Harry.

"I dunno," Teddy said with a shrug. He hadn't really thought about it.

Harry's brow furrowed, and he wondered briefly if his godson had a simple streak to him before shaking the thought away. "What do you mean you don't know?"

"Well, we snog—" said Teddy.

"Yeah, I gathered that much on my own," Harry said, his voice now thick with sarcasm.

And Teddy began—as he often tended to when speaking only to his godfather—to ramble unashamedly, "I dunno. I never thought to ask her. We've only been—well, it hasn't been a long while that we've been…" He waved his hands around in the air, searching for the right turn of phrase, but came up empty. "…whatever it is that we are. And it seems odd that I should ask her because of course she's mine—not that she isn't her own person or that I think I own her, but I've never thought of it being any other way—other than the two of us. She was with Davies, yeah, but that was to get at me. And I've been with girls before, but that was when she was too young—I had to wait for her, but I didn't think I'd have to do it celibate—"

At that Harry emitted a great, barking laugh that was largely reminiscent of his own godfather, and he wondered how different things would have been if he'd ever had the opportunity to ask Sirius about girls.

Harry remembered the easy grace his godfather possessed in Snape's memory and didn't think Sirius'd had very much trouble with them, other than the trouble he caused himself.

"But even still, I have no idea if she wants me—well, she says she does, but she's so lovely that I wonder if she really— and even then, maybe she only wants me for—"

"Have you asked her?" questioned Ginny, and Teddy turned to look at her.

Apparently, she'd been there a rather long while, as she'd made herself comfortable leaning against the doorframe, an amused expression on her face.

"Asked her what? If she'd—" Teddy began and the entirety of his hair went pink before he could help it. "Well, er… no."

Ginny chuckled wryly and rolled her eyes. "Like godfather like godson is it?"

Harry looked from his wife to his godson, then said to Teddy. "I break up with her to keep her safe from the darkest wizard of all time, she agrees with the logic of it, and still… I don't think I'll ever live that down."

"'The darkest wizard of all time,'" mimicked Ron beside his sister. "Really likes peppering that into conversation, doesn't he?"

"Victoire," Ginny called over her shoulder. "Could you and Teddy set the table?"

Victoire soon appeared behind her, smiling at the chance to leave the kitchen with Teddy at her side.

"I asked James and Fred," Ginny continued. "But none of the silverware has managed to reach the table."

"No problem, Aunt Ginny," Victoire said, her eyes conspicuously on Teddy. "Do you want to get more from the drawer while I get the glasses?"

She was outside once he'd collected enough silverware, setting a glass at each seat. The Weasleys had long expanded their kitchen to fit them all, but a healthy breeze had picked up as the sun set and they could hardly let go of the opportunity to cool off.

"So, what were you and Uncle Harry talking about?" she asked, grabbing the spoons from him.

"Er…" he mumbled and flushed again. "Well—you."

"Oh," she said, a flirtatious catch in her eye. "What about me?"

He knew his hair was going pink, but the best he could manage was keep it to a startling magenta. "If you're my girlfriend."

She smiled, amused by his hair and the nervous hitch in his voice. Wasn't it obvious? Of course she was his—or, as she tended to think of it, he was hers, from the moment he threw his arm around her at the World Cup—didn't he know that?

"And what did you say?" she asked, her voice a teasing hum.

"That, um," he said and cleared his throat before the following words came out in a rush, "that I wasn't sure if you wanted to be."

"What?" she asked, and he was immediately wary of the stillness in her voice.

"Well, I'm _not_ sure," he said, "You may have just wanted to—"

"Do you think I came into your room that night—and kissed you all those other nights since—just to fuck around?"

"I dunno." He knew it was the wrong answer before his mouth rounded out the first syllable, before the thought fully formed, but even so, it was his only answer.

He had been looking down at the table as he spoke, wanting a moment before he saw her reaction, but no such luck—he should've realized, with Victoire nearly every moment is visceral and inescapable.

She slammed the spoons down near his hand. "You _don't know_?" He looked up to see a sharpness descend over her features. "Are you daft? Or are you simply not fucking listening when I say, over and over again that I fancy you, I care for you, and I want you. _Only you_."

"Yeah," he said, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, "but with your parents around it reminds me that you're still younger and I don't think—"

"Motherfucker!" she shouted and stormed off toward the clump of trees beyond the pigpen.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. He waved his wand over the table, the silverware and glasses arranged themselves at each place, and set off after her.

"You arsehole," she screamed when he found her concealed in the thicket of green. "You unbelievable, daft arsehole!"

He toed a clump of dirt at his feet. Was he being daft? _Fuck yeah,_ insisted his mind.

"Victoire," he began. "It's only that… you've never really been with someone before… how will you know when you want to stop?"

She rolled her eyes, as if that was the stupidest thing he could've possibly said. "I stopped us that night."

"Yeah, and you said—"

"I know what I said," she said sharply. "I still stopped."

But, _anything_. She'd said she'd felt as if she'd do anything.

"When you touch me," she began slowly, her eyes blazing, "it does feel as if I'll never know how to stop. But I still do."

He didn't say a word—none came, not even the wrong ones—his mind was ensnared by her, with the possibilities of her feelings. She did stop him, she was right, but they were kissing, dancing around what they could do alone in a bed—surely, she'd been in that kind of situation before, she'd have learned when she wanted to stop.

"You don't trust me," she said, seething.

"No, it's not that—"

"Bullocks," she spat. "You brought up that I'm younger. You think I'm naïve. Will it _ever_ fucking matter that _I've_ decided? I've told you—"

"But you don't _know_. What if we do something new to you—and, fuck it, Victoire, you know most of it's new to you—and I scare you off—"

She threw herself at him then, and before he fully realized it, he was between her and the trunk of the oak tree. And all he knew, all he felt was her mouth, hot, and open, and wanting beneath his, her breasts firm under his touch, and her hand as it sank past the band of his jeans. He groaned as her fingers moved over him, only separated from the hardening flesh by the thin fabric of his drawers. She teased the length of him, her fingers moving with the haunting promise of all they knew to do. And then the fabric parted and there wasn't a thing between them. Blood surged toward her touch as she tightened around him and her thumb completed slow, languorous circles around the head.

At that, he nearly growled, and his hands moved from her breasts to her shoulders, holding her against him as he spun her around so that now she was pressed between him and the tree. She encouraged him, her leg rising to wrap around his hips, her teeth closing around his bottom lip. He extracted her hand, holding it now in his grasp as he rocked his hips aggressively into hers, his intent clear. A tremor ran up the length of her, her leg gripped him closer, and she moaned, low and eager, into his mouth.

And then she withdrew.

"Right now," she said, her voice a dark whisper, "most of me wants you to fuck me so hard our family hears. And I'm only beginning to understand the depth of what that would mean. Am I scared?"

He blinked slowly, his eyes taking their time to focus on hers. There was lust—his muscle at the center of her legs pulsed at the sight of it—and a spark of threatening anger, but not a hint of fear.

"No," she answered for him. "And I've never touched someone in that way before; I still knew when I needed to stop."

She was right. He knew it as a resounding, crashing truth.

"I'm sorry," he said, frustrated with himself for not knowing her better.

"And you trust me?" she asked.

His hair was blue again; how he had forgotten this part of her—her fearsome self-respect—he wasn't sure. It was in everything she did, and it was there, in the way she eyed him warily now.

"I trust you," he said, his grasp at her waist gentler now.

"And you won't bring up this bullocks again?" she asked, still hesitant.

He laughed lightly, and was pleased to see a sneaking smile light her face. "Not again, I promise."

"Good," she said, grinning in her victory. She leaned into him, the heat of her circling him in the breezy summer air, and kissed along his neck. He groaned at the fluttering touch, his skin still desperately sensitive. She turned then so she was just at the edge of his grasp, but her mouth—thank, Merlin—remained at his ear. "Because if you do, you won't ever have the chance of touching me again."

* * *

He apparated them back into the house, onto the second landing, so their absence could be reasoned away by no one simply noticing when they returned to the kitchen. Victoire tucked out the back door behind her brother, nicking his Quaffle and tossing it to James—appearing effortlessly as if she had been out there all along.

But Harry noticed.

"Took you thirty minutes to set the table, did it?" his godfather asked him as he passed through the kitchen.

"Er, yeah," said Teddy. He stopped and looked over at Harry with a cocksure grin.

Harry nodded, and the older brother sensibilities won out.

"Must've been a lot of silverware," he deadpanned.

They each watched the other for a moment, straight faced, before bursting into gales of laughter.

"Yeah," Teddy began once he'd caught his breath again. "Well, it's all sorted now."

"Good," said Harry, smiling. "Just, uh," he looked over his shoulder toward his brother-in-law, "just wait a while before you let Bill get wind of it."

"What are we keeping from Bill?" asked George, appearing behind Harry with his son at his side.

"Teddy and Victoire," said Harry, still grinning.

"Oh, I dunno," Fred said with a gesture to Teddy. "It'd be interesting to see if his hair stays pink."


	11. Summer: Part Five

They made a habit of it—sneaking off whenever they could. It didn't really matter where—the broom shed, the linen closet, the orchard, his bedroom.

When he'd caught her in the linen closet, she'd just stepped out of the shower, her skin still flush with the heat of the water. He hadn't been looking for her, only walking down the hall on his way to find James when the bathroom door opened, and there she was, outlined by steam.

For many moments neither moved, only stared—he knew she wouldn't shy away. Droplets of water ran down from her hair; one in particular slipped through the space between her breasts, and when it disappeared from view his mind's eye continued watching its progression as it moved over her waist to her navel, before finally becoming lost in the platinum blonde fuzz that covered the mound at the center of her hips.

He knew there was a door behind him, but couldn't remember what it contained. He took her hand in the same moment he opened the door, and then it was only the two of them in the dark.

She knew he'd seen her in much less—and hell, right now he couldn't see her at all—but it was the awareness of how little it'd take—a release of restraint on her part, an easy tug on his—to leave her bare before him.

He drew her hair away from her shoulder, and kissed along the soft skin, up the elegant curve of her neck. He nipped at the spot just behind her ear, and she shook lightly, gasping as he continued.

And she thought of them standing in the lane beside Madame Puddifoot's, his fingers as they descended past the band of her skirt to the bundle of nerves she had only just learned were there. She raised her hand to his chin and brought his mouth to hers.

_Please, please_, she pleaded inwardly, and was glad of the fragility of her cover. Perhaps if she let it go he'd touch her there—more, harder—until the feeling broke blissfully. She untucked her towel from where it was nestled under her arm, and felt him grin into their kiss. Yes, _good_, if she—but then he righted it, wrapped it securely around her. His mouth moved to her neck once again, and she was surprised to find the touch of his lips against such innocent skin could make her writhe against him, make her shake harder.

He did the same in the orchard. He had her on her back, the dew slick grass wet against her sweat and skin. Except, this time, mercifully, his attention had descended to her breasts.

He'd told her to meet him in the orchard because she'd be too loud for the house, and she'd thought it was rather presumptuous of him—until his mouth moved in slow, teasing kisses from her lips, to her neck, to the swells of her chest and his teeth grazed her nipple, and—_oh_. She cried out louder than she ever had before, and Teddy, encouraged by this, bit down around the pink, puckered flesh, his tongue moving against the bud as a gentle counter to the hard edge of his teeth.

And this time she did beg aloud, "more, _Teddy_, more, more, please."

She ground her hips into his, and felt him harden against her through his jeans. _Yes_. She did it again, her own excitement growing. But when he lifted his eyes to catch hers, mouth still at her breast, he smiled cockily and shook his head. She groaned in frustration, and brought her legs tight around him. Fine, she decided, if this was a game of teasing, then she would tease him too.

Oh fuck, Teddy thought as she flipped him on his back. She was above him now, her bright hair crested by the sun, and he saw her competitive streak emerge in the dark mischief of her eyes. She pinned his hands beneath her arms and lowered herself unhurriedly onto him, so that he must watch, with no hope of touching, as her breasts slowly descended to rest on his chest, full and inviting.

He groaned in frustration, just as she had not a minute before, but it soon turned into a growl of approval as her mouth found the spot just beneath his ear. She sucked it lightly between her teeth, taking and releasing pressure as her tongue flitted over the highly sensitive skin. He arched his hips into hers, grinding, seeking, and she sucked harder, her tongue teasing further. She rolled her hips, and the friction of the fabric against him raised goose bumps to his skin.

"Alright, alright, you win," he said, but his hands moved no lower. Instead he wrapped his arms around her waist and turned them onto their sides.

He laughed as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, and she laughed too, achingly happy in the sweetness of having each other. As their breathing steadied, they settled into the giddy joy, and their touch became more innocent.

This became habit too—the relaxed knowing of one another—and it stretched between the bouts of wanting.

* * *

They sat together on the couch in the sitting room that had now become her bed, her head in his lap, his fingers combing through her hair. He'd had to wait until the house grew quiet and still before he could sneak down to her. She'd been at the window when he found her, reaching for the top latch, stretching up onto the balls of her feet, her right leg thrown out behind her for balance like a ballet dancer. She hadn't noticed him, and he took the chance to enjoy the athletic curve of her calf, the ease with which she moved.

She was talking to him now, her hands playing at the air to emphasize her words, but his mind was on her legs—bare, stretched out, open underneath him as he rocked into the slick wanting of her, and she gasped and moaned as he moved in her until finally her toes curled and she groaned out his name. Merlin, he wanted it, wanted her. And he trusted her. But that he'd wait for.

"What do you think?" she asked him seriously.

"Er, I…" he began. He didn't want to admit he hadn't been paying attention.

"Wasn't listening," she finished for him, and for a moment he thought she was cross with him. But she looked up at him and smiled. "I didn't think this—" she wriggled against where he was hard and poking at her shoulder—"was a reaction to potential alternative uses for Devil's Snare."

"Uh, no," he said, and a slight blush crept up his neck. "So," he said, trying to amend the situation, "what are the alternative uses for Devil's Snare?"

"Well, we don't know. That's the problem!" she said alight with enthusiasm again. "All of those plants—Devil's Snare, Water Hemlock, English Yew, Venomous Tentacula—have been classified by the Ministry as Class 5 poisonous, which means they are absolutely forbidden to experiment with, save for highly monitored educational purposes. The only plant to have ever been removed from this list was Wolfsbane, but even then Damocles Belby had to experiment in secret. He was nearly arrested when he debuted the Wolfsbane Potion—"

"And I take it that's what this is about," he said, tracing the thin silver scar that wrapped around her forearm.

"Yes, of course, but—"

Teddy chuckled. "And you got permission to do this how?"

She took a pause from her rapid-fire enthusiasm to look him directly in the eye with a confident grin. "What's the point of having a family member in nearly every office in the Ministry if you don't do something about it?"

He smiled fondly in return. "Of course, what was I thinking?"

She pouted before her mouth twisted into a wry grin. "I know, it's a little Machiavellian to think of it that way, but Aunt Hermione offered to submit my request—and Da said might as well do it this way—officially, with Professor Longbottom, I mean—since I was going to find a way to do it regardless."

Teddy's smile broadened and he kissed along her profile: her forehead, her cheekbone, her chin.

"I don't suppose this happened recently," he said a little sadly. It hadn't occurred to him how much he'd missed of her last year when they weren't snogging or fighting.

She shook her head. "I got approval in January." She was quiet then, her eyes hardening for a moment before she spoke. "I was mad at you—"

"Yeah, I gathered that," Teddy said sardonically.

"And… I wanted to punish you, in a way—if you didn't want this part of me"—she brushed over his hand at her hip—"than I wouldn't let you have any of me."

He nodded. "Yeah, well, you've always been an all-or-nothing sort of person."

She laughed fully and sat up in his lap.

"I've been trying for the all," she said and wiggled in his lap, her arse rubbing delightfully against his pelvis, "and you're givin' me nothing."

He emitted a snort of laughter despite himself, and brought his arms around her hips, kissing her cheek when she grinned. "That was an awful joke."

She sunk down on the couch, her head coming to rest in his lap again, and nodded. "They're my specialty, along with herbology and making James look like an arse when he deserves it."

"So what do you want to do with the Venemous Tentacula?" he asked.

"There's a chance that, if brewed properly—" She yawned, and the following words became progressively indecipherable mumbles as she drifted into sleep."—it could give one a greater resistance to physical damage, make you less likely to bleed or break a bone or suffer a spell… may even provide resistance to the Cruciatus curse…"

He played with her hair a little longer before he went up to the attic, begrudging having to leave the sweet warmth of her. As he rose from the couch, he heard someone clear their throat behind him, and looked up to see Granda Weasley in his night robes, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a biscuit in hand.

"You're going to bed?" Arthur asked, amused by the flush that covered Teddy with great speed.

"Yes, sir," Teddy said quickly. "To bed—my bed, of course."

Arthur smiled and turned toward the stairs. "Alright, then. Goodnight."

* * *

The next morning he woke to a cascade of silvery-blonde hair tickling his cheek while a rather lovely pair of lips kissed along his jaw.

"Is this what it means to have a girlfriend?" he asked, his voice still rough with sleep. He curved his arm around her and pulled her into his bed. "You wake me up like this?"

She laughed lightly as she wriggled away from him, knowing the moment they got comfortable a cousin would come looking. "You've had girlfriends before."

"Er, no, not really," he said.

"But you've been with girls."

"Yeah."

She laughed again and it fell smoothly into the rise and fall of her flirtatious lilt: "So that's the kind of boy you are, Teddy Lupin. I guess what I've heard _is_ true."

Victoire tucked on his leather jacket and stretched her arms out before her, trying the fit of it. Clearly pleased, she turned to him and grabbed his arm, tugging him out of bed. "C'mon, Nanna wants us to pick something up in Diagon Alley."

"And you need a jacket in July?" he asked as he tried to pull her closer to him.

"I do," she said, twirling out of his reach—her skirt rising in the air, revealing where her thighs curved toward each other between her hips, to his considerable enjoyment—and tossing a shirt at him. "Since we're taking your motorbike."

"Oh, we are?" he asked, intrigued, and tucked the shirt over his head.

"Mhmm," she said, opening the attic door. "And the sooner you're ready, the sooner we get to go."

When he found her a few minutes later in the yard, leaning against his bike—good Merlin, she did not disappoint. His jacket was draped over her shoulders, her hair plaited to the side—but messily, like she wouldn't mind if he ran his fingers through it later—and Merlin, those knee socks. He hadn't noticed her wearing them up in his room, but how could he have missed them… and the way they stretched over her long, lithe legs, leaving just a bit of skin for him to look at between their end and the start of her skirt?

"I like these," he said hungrily, slipping a finger underneath the top of one, and thought of pulling them off her with his teeth.

"I read you're supposed to keep your legs covered," she said, smiling at him, "Since the bike can get hot."

He nodded numbly, only just hearing her as his mind was quite preoccupied with the thought of her in the socks alone.

She laughed. "Teddy? Are you ready to go then?"

He shook his head, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Sorry, yeah, of course. Now, have you ever traveled long distance by broom before?"

"No, Maman says it's not very practical, and only the English still insist on traveling zat way," she said, a slip of her French accent appearing as she spoke of her Mum.

"Well, than this might take a bit of getting used to," he said. "Just keep in mind when we're up there that there are loads of protective charms on the bike, and there's no chance of you falling off."

"How reassuring," she said as he climbed on in front of her.

"And remember," he said, sliding her closer to him, "to hold on tight."

A swoop of nerves danced through her—from the look in his eye when he said tight and the engine as it roared to life. She wrapped her arms around him, and they were off.

* * *

She was surprised by how quickly they moved. The houses, the farms, the villages beneath them were no more than a blur of color, and soon they touched down in a lonely alley in muggle London.

He turned around in the seat to check on her, and found her cheeks flushed and eyes gleaming. He beamed in return.

"You like it?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

She nodded. "It was odd at first, but thrilling, so thrilling. We _have_ _to_ do it again."

"Yeah? Good. It's easier to drive over to the Leaky Cauldron than land there—too many muggles in that area. Hope you don't mind."

"No," she said smiling. "That sounds lovely."

Her excitement was infectious. And as he turned out onto Oxford Street, he found himself grinning despite his familiarity with the road. He raced toward the Leaky Cauldron, swerving swiftly past double-decker buses and muggles on the road.

"Are you showing off?" she asked delightedly as he dodged between yet another pair of cars.

"Maybe a little."

He parked with a flourish behind the Leaky Cauldron, and she giggled.

"Maybe a lot," she teased.

They passed through the Leaky Cauldron, cool in its usual, dusty darkness, and into the small walled courtyard where Victoire tapped the bricks three up and two across from the trash bin. The wall parted into an archway, and there before them was the always remarkable Diagon Alley.

"So, what are we here for?" Teddy asked her, his arm thrown comfortably around her shoulder.

"Louis and Albus ate Gran's entire stock of bat spleens on a dare last night," she said with a roll of her eyes. "We're picking up more."

"That doesn't sound like Albus," said Teddy.

"Well, according to Dominique he was under the influence of quite a few Chocoballs and a good bit of egging on from Fred and James," she said with sympathy.

It was unusual to find Slug and Jiggers Apothecary not filled to bursting with Hogwarts students picking up supplies for the new year. With all the people often found crowding around it the week before the start of term, he'd never had the chance to notice how the old Tudor building leaned precariously on the Victorian beside it. He wondered if it might fall down. But its windows glittered just the same—full of potions ingredients for brewers novice to master—and a few spare medicines, too.

The walls behind the glass counter were lined with rough, wood shelves, showcasing dried Billywig stings and unicorn hair, Jobberknoll feathers, Flobberworm mucus, and any other ingredient of use from floor to ceiling.

"Yes?" said the old, taciturn wizard behind the counter.

"Oh," said Victoire with a start. He had blended so seamlessly into his rough, practical surroundings that she hadn't seen him, and was about to wonder aloud if they were to go behind the counter themselves.

"Um, yes," she continued. "Hello."

The old man blinked slowly and disinterestedly in reply.

"We'll take four scoops of bat spleens and one ginger root, please—for their stomachs," this last part she said Teddy. "Although, I think Louis deserves whatever stomach ache he gets from this. Fred and James didn't push him at all."

"One galleon, nine sickles," croaked the old man, and with a low swoop of his wand, the bat spleens—rather sickeningly—flew from their jug and into a smaller jar as the ginger root wrapped itself in tissue paper.

Victoire handed him the money, and took her new purchase with a grimace as the spleens sloshed sloppily around inside their jar.

"Thank you," she said to the old man with a rather pinched expression.

"Should I take those?" Teddy offered as they left the shop.

"Please," she said, and pushed the bag at him. "It's the sound—it's just awful."

"You'll take on Venemous Tentacula and Fanged Geranium, but bat spleens give you the willys?" he asked with amusement. "Why'd you volunteer us for this then?"

"For some time alone, obviously," she said with a smile and pulled him by the hand down the street.

Oh, Teddy realized, they were alone—completely surrounded by the many shoppers that bustled around Diagon Alley—but there was not a Weasley in sight, save for the giant ginger automaton that tipped his hat at passersby from the window of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes down the road.

He smiled broadly at her, "and where are we going now?"

"I think ice cream is in order, don't yo—"

"Victoire," called a familiar voice, although Teddy couldn't place it.

But it didn't remain a mystery to him for long, as Victoire promptly replied with a happy, "Adam!"

Davies emerged out of the shoppers surrounding them, tall and clean cut—he still carried himself like the Head Boy. He kissed Victoire on the cheek in greeting, and she him.

"Picking up a few last things for France?" Davies asked.

"No, my brother and a cousin of mine ate all my Gran's bat spleens," she said, as if it was a natural thing to do. "We're picking up more."

"Bat spleens?" Davies asked, his face drawn with mingled surprise and disgust.

"On a dare," she explained.

He smiled broadly. "Of course."

Victoire shrugged. "You can hardly get all of us together without the boys doing something stupid."

"Just the boys?" asked Davies. "I seem to remember you and Dominique settling an argument with who could stomach the most escargot."

Jealousy, thick and unshakable coiled in Teddy, and ran like oil—slick and poisonous—through his veins. Who was Davies to be so familiar with her? They'd only dated for a few months.

"They're a delicacy in France!" Victoire countered.

"So you say," replied Davies with a warm, wry smile. He looked down at his watch. "I've got to get back to work—"

Five months, Teddy's mind reminded him.

Alright, five months, and he and Victoire hadn't even really been together for one. But even so, who the hell does Davies think he is?

"Oh, the Prophet!" Victoire cut in. "How's that been?"

"Excellent. Your aunt's been an enormous help." He kissed her on the cheek again. "It was lovely to run in to you—and you Lupin," he said with a polite nod to Teddy. "Enjoy France!"

Teddy glared at Davies as he receded into the crowd. "Enjoy France," he mocked, his voice dipping into Davies' tutored posh accent. "Hang on, how does _he_ know you're going to France?"

"Hmm?" Victoire asked happily as she continued off to Florean Fortescue's. "I told him."

"When?" asked Teddy irritably.

"In my last letter to him," she replied.

"You write to each other? _Why_?"

Victoire stopped in her tracks and turned to face him, her brow knit with frustration. "Because things ended so badly and I wanted to apologize. And then because he became a very good friend."

"A friend," Teddy spat.

"Yes, you arsehole, a friend," she said with a tone of finality.

Teddy glowered, not at her exactly, but at the air around her head. Frustrated as he was, he knew better than to keep arguing with her. But, there was a feeling nagging at him, nameless and influential.

He grabbed her hand and led her to a small, dark nook between Obscurus Books and Scribbulus Writing Instruments. Her pulse quickened and her nerves flared with that delicious ache she was becoming more familiar with as he backed her against the wall, one hand at her hip, the other at her chin to tilt her mouth toward his.

She knew what this was, and fine, if this was the only way he'd believe her that she wanted him and only him, than at least she'd enjoy the hell out of it.

His lips hovered just above hers, his breath tickling and teasing the thin, flush skin of her mouth. Instinctually, her lips pouted into the shape of a kiss, anticipating wanting, but he didn't move. Not yet.

Oh, so this was how it was going to be. She smiled inwardly. Well, she'd been begging for more, maybe now she'd get it.

When a small, pretty whimper breathed through her his mouth finally descended to hers. His lips worked tenderly against her own and she found herself shaking already—at the anticipation, the promise of it. His tongue teased along the seam of her mouth, and just as she parted for him, ready, wanting, he moved to the thin, delicate skin of her neck and bit down fiercely.

She moaned loudly and caught herself just in time before a passing wizard looked in. Teddy pulled her further into the dark, his tongue moving over the sunken teeth marks, drawing high little sighs from her at the contrasting feeling. His hand at her hip moved to the small of her back and pressed her to him. She could feel him through his trousers, all of him, and it was terribly easy to imagine her skin against his, the sharp bite of her bones grinding into his, and him, sliding effortlessly into her.

His mouth returned to hers, her teeth sunk into his lip, and he laughed darkly. Yes, this was what he wanted—her abandon, her desire—uncontrollable and beyond her. Because this is what they were to each other. Lit fuses who pulled the other into new depths of trouble. Oh, and the trouble they could get into if they gave in! If they fucked as they wanted, if they did as they wanted—what trouble, what trouble indeed. His hand at her neck descended to her breast and she arched into his touch. Yes, yes, don't you see? This is what I do to you. She groaned hungrily, moaned happily as he rolled the little pink bud between his fingers, pulled at her 'til her breath was a fever pitch. Only me. Only you. When her breath was nothing more than moans slipped into his mouth, his fingers shadowed the line of her waist, to her hip, the feeling of her skin beneath his decadent—and how much more lovely that skin would feel when he reached it—velvet soft, slick and wet with the need of him. Only him. _Oh yes, oh yes_, she sighed. He opened his eyes, ready to see hers rapt with desire, with want, with him. But when his fingers moved against her knickers, she replied not with a feverous sigh of surrender, but with a knowing smile.

A knowing smile. And he realized she was already in the dark of them, had found those depths of trouble, looked around, grown comfortable and made it her home. Only you. She'd told him that already. When she laughed, when she moaned. Only you. Oh, Merlin did he love her, love her, love her—he wouldn't say it aloud, he was fearful of it—he could see it there in the comfortable dark of them that bubbled with their potential, but not yet aloud—but, Merlin, _how_ he loved her. And she him.

"Fuck," he said, leaning against the opposite wall, although the little alcove was so small he was hardly more than an inch or two away from her. "I've been such an arse."

"Mhmm," she agreed calmly, smiling still as she righted her shirt.

"I am so sorry, Victoire," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. Then he brought his arms gently around her waist and kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," she said, grinning now.

"You know, of course you know—did you know when I pulled you in here?" he asked, smiling now too.

She nodded. "Sometimes you hear me better when I show you physically. I understand."

He blinked several times. No girl had ever put it that bluntly. But she was right.

"Ice cream, then?" he asked a little sheepishly.

"Absolutely," she replied, and drew him out of the dark little space. "You might've been acting like a pratt, but that was hot."

"Oh really?" he asked and pulled her close, tickling the spot on her side.

She shrieked with laughter. "Yes! Now no more distractions—I really do want ice cream."


	12. Summer: Part Six

**Hello all! I just wanted to say thank you again to those who review- it's so helpful to think about your comments when writing the next chapter. Happy Halloween!**

* * *

It had only been a week (which meant merely four days until her return) into Victoire's family trip to France, but Teddy was beginning to loathe the whole damn county altogether for creating an absence of her. The time without her seemed to stretch into a haze of letters, as everything around him seemed dulled without her there—even the Burrow, with its endless possibilities for cousin-inspired trouble making, seemed a little hollow. The only bright spot had been the particularly flirty tone her letters had taken on. (_I can't believe how rusty my French has gotten over the past year, but at least Tante Gabrielle is teaching me new phrases. For example, have you ever heard of a ménage à trois? I think you'd rather like the sound of it, it rolls right off the tongue.) _

* * *

_Dear Teddy,_

_Last night I dreamt about Gran's fresh-made scones, drizzled in honey and smothered in apple butter. And, inevitably, woke up drooling. Maman says it's damn near blasphemous that I should be in France and dreaming about inférieur English food, but I think what it really means is I miss the Burrow. (Also, I've yet to meet a French cook to rival Gran—I'd like to see one try.) _

_It appears French men are rather flirtatious and have quite the thing for underage, blonde English girls they assume don't speak French, as Dad has had a time of shouting a good few of them away while Maman says I told you so and Grand-Pére chuckles. As you can tell, Dad's especially pleased that this trip is shorter than last year's. But not as pleased as I am because I've spent the majority of my days thinking, French countryside be damned, I'd rather ride around the English ones with my boyfriend. _

_I can't wait to be home—especially so I can describe to you the particular way you were feeding me that scone._

_Best,_

_Victoire_

* * *

_Victoire,_

_I don't know if I'll be able to look at scones the same way again—which makes things a bit awkward since we see each other every morning at breakfast. An awful joke, I know. It sounds like one you'd make._ (He hoped she caught the wink with which he'd meant that.)

_Nothing much has happened here that would seem exciting compared to being at the beach in Marseille. I've spent the past few days at the Potter house since I couldn't walk around very much of the Burrow without finding a place we'd snogged. And that made things a bit—err—hard. Ginny got in another row with Rita Skeeter. Not sure who won that round. Honestly, I haven't been thinking about much more than you._

_Teddy_

* * *

_Dear Teddy,_

_I saw the twin of your motorbike today. I doubt this one flies, but it was sure doing its damnedest to—it nearly ran me over. Maybe it was the adrenaline mixed with seeing the bike, but all I've been able to think about is the way you looked at me in my knee highs and how you tucked your finger into one of them. I thought you were going to pull them off me, I almost wanted you to. Who am I kidding, I absolutely wanted you to. So this afternoon I bought about a dozen more pairs hoping you'll take them off me too._

_And what's this about Aunt Ginny fighting with Skeeter again? I only get two tiny, detail bankrupt sentences? I want to hear eeeeeeverythiiing. _

_Yours,_

_Victoire_

* * *

_Victoire,_

_Well, I wasn't there, was I? Although, I would've paid quite a few galleons to've been. All I know is Ginny and Harry came home early last night, and she was bright red—like how Ron gets when he's mad. I don't think I've ever seen her like that, and let me tell you it is fucking terrifying. I was eating dinner—brunch, technically, I guess, since I woke up at noon, but it was left over shepherd's pie, which isn't much of a breakfast food—and I heard them mention our names as they walked through the house. And then, when they came into the kitchen, she looked surprised to see me, and started muttering about the curses she'd like to cast on _that blasted woman_. Harry finally told me that Skeeter had written another article about the family for the paperback release of her Dumbledore's Army book, and we're in it. I don't know what it says about us, but it's in tomorrow morning's paper, so we'll find out soon enough._

_Miss you,_

_Teddy_

* * *

Teddy decided to spend the night at the Burrow, wanting for the first time since she'd left to linger in the spots where they'd been, to sit on the couch she'd claimed as her bed and remember the way she'd eased into sleep, humming contentedly, as he ran his fingers through her hair.

His hand twitched at his side as he remembered the feeling, and he had to concentrate especially hard to ensure he wouldn't splinch himself.

"Teddy!" Molly greeted him happily as opened the backdoor. "Right on time, dear, I've just called dinner."

"Wonderful, thank you," he said, returning her hug. She tutted over his hair familiarly as he withdrew.

"Do you need a hair cut?" she asked. "I just cut Hugo's this morning."

"Nah," he said, and, focusing on his scalp, removed his hair entirely. "I've got it covered."

She laughed as his hair suddenly grew back in, the same nearly violent turquoise. "Alright, then."

"Dunno why anyone would choose to have hair like that when you could have hair like mine," Fred joked as he entered the kitchen, tossing a hand through his spectacular lion's mane of tightly curled red ringlets.

"I don't think I'd be able to pull it off with quite as much flare," Teddy replied, briefly morphing his own hair to match Fred's.

"Actually, you look a bit like Bill with your hair like that," said Molly as she placed a roll on Fred's plate, knowing her grandson's request before he asked.

Fred chuckled at Teddy. "Make things a bit awkward between you and Victoire, wouldn't it?"

"And what do you mean by that?" Teddy joked, helping himself to the roast chicken Molly made.

"Well you two are a thing, aren't you?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah, you're together," Fred confirmed. "It'd be weird if she resurfaced from snogging and there you are looking like her Da."

Teddy nearly choked on his bight of chicken. "Yeah, what a picture… So, you know?"

Fred rolled his eyes. "I think everyone older than nine knows, 'cept for James maybe. He can be a bit slow about girls."

'True, but not all of us have the guts to flirt with Adelaide Bennett in our first year," said Teddy, nudging him encouragingly.

"You don't mean Victoire's friend? She's a sixth year," Molly said, shocked.

"Oh, yes, I do," said Teddy. "You should've seen him Gran-Molly. I walked into the Great Hall one morning, and there Fred is, asking, 'what about when I graduate? Four years won't be so much then.' All the while, my best mate Kieran, her boyfriend, is sitting on the other side of her at loss for words because a first year's trying to pick up his girl. And this little git's so charming, she says, 'Yeah, when you come of age, look me up.'"

Teddy watched as a blush rose to Fred's dark-complected cheeks, but he was hardly shy as he said with a smug grin, "Yeah, and I plan to do just that… And I won't go about getting caught by Rita Skeeter the first time I snog her, either."

"Come off it, that was a year ago!" said Teddy, smiling despite Fred's cheek.

"And you haven't been doing much to make Uncle Bill forget it."

"We've been subtle!"

"Subtle enough," Molly agreed. "Have either of you seen your grandfather?"

It always gave Teddy an especially warm feeling to hear her count him as part of her grandchildren. "I saw the light on in the tool shed when I came in."

"I swear," said Molly as she left, "if he causes another fire trying to figure out how that lightbubble works again…"

"Is subtlety why the third floor closet was locked for over an hour the day before she left?" Fred asked, dropping his voice.

"Maybe," Teddy admitted, the smirk that split his face providing a resounding yes.

"You might wanna tell Victoire to keep it down then," Fred teased. "James thought the house finally had a ghoul again."

* * *

The next morning Teddy was roused by the most heavenly smell to ever cross his nose—a molten mix of apple cider, hot, buttery dough, and cinnamon sugar. He rolled out of bed and shuffled blindly down the stairs, pleased to find the scent rising stronger as he grew closer to the kitchen. Briefly, he wondered if it was a dream; the warmth of his bed hadn't yet left him, he didn't trip down the too short stair on the second floor, and Victoire's couch in the sitting room reminded him she'd be home tomorrow. But the scene he found in the kitchen was far too surreal even for his daydreams.

Nearly half the extended Weasley family was sitting around the kitchen table when he entered, but this was rather normal. Over the summers, the Burrow was practically brimming with Weasleys, all attracted to the particular buoyancy being packed together under the loving eye of Molly and Arthur brought them. No, it was that they all, without a single exception, turned to stare at him as he walked in the room.

"Looks like your cooking has actually raised the dead, Mum," George quipped, breaking the silence first, as he was prone to do.

Teddy meandered sleepily to the table, following the delicious promise of Gran-Molly's breakfast more than his own eyesight.

"Whaz's going on?" he mumbled as he sat down.

"Nothing that can't be taken care of with a swift Backfiring Jinx and a lesson in Transfiguration when I get into work this morning," Ginny muttered darkly, and Teddy was once again reminded of the particular ferociousness born out of being the only girl in a family with six brothers—two of whom being Fred and George.

Teddy looked to Harry at her side. The pair usually acted as a counter point to the other, calming and tranquil to pull their partner into balance. But today his godfather only looked marginally less upset than Ginny, his fist clenched so hard the long faded _I must not tell lies_ were raised white over the back of his hand.

"Have a donut, dear," Molly said, dropping a plate down in front of him with a little less grace than she usually possessed.

His mouth watered at the halo of hot sugar before him, and was so taken with it that in his sleepy state he mumbled, "Oo, donuts."

It wasn't until he was three bites in that he realized none of the adults were speaking.

"If somfing ong?" he asked through a mouthful of dough, for even intrigue couldn't trump the lure of Molly's cooking.

"Rita Skeeter struck again," George said with flair, sliding the Prophet across the table to Teddy. The page was dominated by a picture of Harry and Ginny: Harry raising his hand up to block the camera, Ginny turning sharply away, her bright hair fanning out and hiding her face. The headline beneath it read in bold _Dumbledore's Army's Secrets Keep Spilling_.

"Is this why you two had a row the other day?" he asked Ginny.

Ginny nodded. "It's entirely unethical. 'We'll take care of it,' my arse. Printing it on the third page is still printing it."

"Is it worse than last time?" At least Victoire was in France. They'd wanted to keep things quiet, but he wasn't about to lie about being with her, not when half the family knew.

"Start at the third paragraph, mate," said George, clapping him on the shoulder.

Teddy glanced down at the paper. The third paragraph? They'd only been little more than a footnote in last summer's Weasley/Potter themed gossip column. His eyes widened as he began to read.

_I'll admit, there was some reluctance among my editors on reporting the following news, but I insisted. I know my readers have a need to read what only Rita Skeeter can provide. (Especially when this pair became such a popular topic following their debut at The World Cup. I can't begin to describe the sheer volume of requests I've received for more on them.) One _would_ normally hesitate divulging such a story when those at the center of it are barely of age, but I can hardly sympathize when Miss Victoire Weasley has displayed the family tendency to thrust herself into the spotlight._

_It appears that the young Miss Weasley has taken after her Aunt Hermione and become quite the femme fatale in her school days. Apparently, the hot blooded half-werewolf, Teddy Lupin wasn't enough to keep her attention this school past year. Too alternative for her taste, perhaps? With his blue hair and rebellious streak that reveals he shares his godfather's pathological need for attention born out of the death of his parents. Especially when considering the clean-cut, old-world glamour of Head Boy and Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain Adam Davies. Taking advantage of the tumultuous on again/off again nature of Miss Weasley and Master Lupin's relationship, Davies wedged his way between the pair, and by November he and Miss Weasley were quite an item—and a scandalous one at that, considering their four year age difference._

_Of course, it wasn't long before Miss Weasley, who, readers may remember is part Veela on her mother's side (no coincidence), whipped the two boys into a frenzied fever pitch of hormones._

_Rumors, heard on good authority, emerged that Miss Weasley had caused such a stir within the two boys that the only way to ease the tension was for them to both jump in her bed. The Weasley family, as usual, refused to comment, all but confirming the sordid details with their silence—although her aunt, Ginny Potter, firmly insisted off record that I leave them alone (there, there dear, no need to stick your nose in another's business just because your own paradise has gone sour). Master Davies was more than a touch aggressive when reached for comment (still bitter over the family tradition of loosing Delacour women to other men, hmm?), insisting that the news was, in his belligerent words, "a baseless lie." _

_Well, I'm sure we can all see why she dropped him like a hot wand._

_Those who flooded my office with letters, desperate for more about Weasley and Lupin, need not worry. The decidedly on again pair was last spotted snogging rather intently on a day trip to Diagon Alley this past week. _

"Motherfucker," he muttered, tossing the paper down.

"Teddy!" Molly quickly admonished.

"Sorry, sorry." He looked over at Harry. "D'you think Bill will kill me this time?"

"Maybe he'll be so angry that the little bit of werewolf in his will come out and he'll get all big and gruesome like that green guy in Hugo's muggle comics!" Fred said with anticipatory glee.

"Uh, no, I don't think it'll be quite that bad," Harry said, a little calmer now. The corners of his mouth quirked upward. "Although it would be pretty cool to see Bill Hulk smash."

"Right?" agreed Fred, leaning over the table now. "With how his scars get when he's mad! It'd be mental!"

"He already knows," said Ginny, her mood lightening ever so slightly. "I wrote him yesterday. If you haven't gotten a howler by now, I'd say your safe."

Albus stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and slid into the seat beside his sister.

"Where's your brother?" Ginny asked him, looking around at the table.

"He's busy being a git. Said he wasn't going to get up before noon because he's only got two weeks left until school starts again, and I wouldn't understand because _I'm so young_," Albus replied, throwing a tone of derision into the last few words. He reached for the plate of communal bacon in the center of the table and dumped it into his bowl. "So I'm going to eat all his bacon."

* * *

He spent most of the day playing Quidditch two-on-twos with James, Fred, and Molly II—who turned out to be a mean keeper, blocking James at every turn. But the evening hours stretched unwelcomely, lazing by as if they were mocking him with tomorrow's promise of Victoire's return. He sat in his bed, watching the sun set through the little attic window, remembering that night she'd slipped in through the door, up into his bed, and, eventually, he fell asleep, wrapped in dreams of her.

The next thing he recalled was a door slamming and a shout of the filthiest string of French swear words he'd ever heard. The morning was off to a raucous start, and he knew she was home.

"Nique ta mere fils de salope!" the cursing continued, and it seemed to be growing closer. "I've seen the article, James. I don't need you to read it to me!"

Teddy flew down the third and second story stairs to find James climbing backward up the first just ahead of Victoire, yesterday's paper in his hands and a smirk on his lips as he continued to read with Fred trailing behind.

"Still bitter over the family tradition of loosing Delacour women to other men, hmm?" he said, his voice pitched high in mocking.

"Would you like bats to come out of your nose again?" she asked, her eyes dark with warning. "Or perhaps something new? I can do blue jays now too."

"You couldn't do that to me _and_ Fred," James said boastfully.

"Me _and Fred_?" said Fred. "I still remember that stunning jinx. You're on your own, mate."

"Hi," Victoire said, her voice a bit husky as she spotted Teddy. Her eyes softened and the corners of her mouth peaked upward to an inviting grin.

He was just behind James now, the picture of Harry and Ginny printed on the Prophet flickering in his peripheral vision, but it all seemed to dim with the nearness of her.

"I'm only joking," James said, a little more congenial now that he didn't have backup. "As if anyone could believe you two are together."

"Yeah," said Teddy, not looking away from Victoire. "It's absurd."

"Entirely delusional," she agreed, a teasing note in her voice.

"C'mon James," Fred said, shooting Teddy a knowing look. "Let's go see if we can find the ghoul again."

"So you think it's a ghoul too?" James said enthusiastically, already turning up the stairs. "Merlin, wouldn't it be great if we had one?"

Teddy reached for the door behind him—Ginny's old bedroom, he remembered dimly—once they were out of ear shot, and found it blessedly empty. He pulled her into the room and into his arms, and his blood ran hot through his veins.

"I've heard that you've come home with some very French swear words," he said, his voice humming with satisfaction at having her again.

"Mmm," she said as he kissed along her neck. "And some very French tan lines."

"I'm sure the very French men enjoyed that," he said, now kissing any spot his lips could find.

"They did, and I said, 'haven't you seen the paper, gentlemen? I only like lanky half-werewolves with blue hair who lure me into dark corners.'"

"I'm sure that's old news to them."

"Maybe," she said, and her voice caught in her throat as his hand found her breast. She whimpered lightly when his fingers kneaded the soft flesh. "But it wasn't any of them I kept dreaming about."

"Dreams?" he asked amidst kisses. Her tongue swept over his bottom lip and he happily, greedily allowed her in.

"Dreams," she replied after he groaned against her lips. "Lock the door and I'll show you the way you kissed me in them."

* * *

He was dazed when they finally resurfaced for air.

"Missed you," he mumbled as they caught their breath.

She ground her hips into his ever so slightly. "Yeah, I can tell... Oh! I have something I wanted to show you!"

She was beaming as she searched through her bag, and Teddy's mind wandered to all sorts of naughty possibilities. That is, until she pulled out a book.

"Isn't it incredible?" she asked flipping through the pages. He glimpsed a carefully preserved leaf on each one, surrounded by careful cursive script. "It was stashed around Grand-Pére's cookbooks. No one had looked at it in years!"

"What is it?" Teddy asked, unable to decipher the faded ink—let alone the French.

"Poisonous Plants of the Pyrenees and Southern France," she gushed. She glanced up from its yellowing pages, and a slow smile spread over her face at the look of polite interest on Teddy's. "So, when should I be over on Friday?"

"Friday?" he asked, his hand drifting dreamily through her hair.

"For the concert," she said, nearly giggling at his distractedness. "It'll take a bit of scheming, but I should be able to get away."

"Oh… I sort of forgot about it," he said.

"You? Forget about The Bent Winged Snitches?" she asked, smiling.

"I was a little distracted by my girlfriend," he said, kissing down her face from her forehead to her nose to her lips.

"Merlin, you must be mad about her."

You have no idea, he thought. He kissed her again, and couldn't think of a better way to pass the time than making up for her time in France. But soon Molly's voice called up from the kitchen—their Hogwarts letters had arrived.

"What is that heavenly smell?" Victoire broke away from him to ask.

"Left over apple cider donuts," he replied.

"You mean they've been there all morning and you've kept me locked up in here? What cruelty," she said cheekily, and, grabbing his arm, bound out of the room and down the stairs.

"Oh, good!" said Molly when they entered the kitchen. "You're letter's especially heavy, Teddy."

"A preemptive detention, maybe?" Victoire teased.

Teddy tore open the envelope to find a pin the size of his palm emblazoned with the Hogwarts crests. Etched across the glossy enamel surface were the words Head Boy.

"Is this a joke?" Teddy asked, tossing it down on the table to search the rest of the envelope's contents.

"Oh, Teddy! Congratulations," beamed Mrs. Weasley.

_Dear Mr. Lupin_, read the corroborating letter in Professor McGonagall's clean, neat hand. _It is my pleasure to write that you are the Hogwarts Class of 2016 Head Boy…_

"Congratulations," Victoire hummed, and kissed his cheek inconspicuously.

"I know my class is small, but really?" Teddy asked incredulously, reaching for the pin again.

"Maybe McGonagall thinks you'll have better luck of keeping Fred and James in line," Victoire offered.

Teddy looked up to see the pair in question slip an exploding snap under Albus' seat cushion, only for Mr. Weasley to sit down and the chair pop audibly beneath him.

Teddy grinned ruefully. "There's not enough Felix Felicis in the world for that kind of luck."


End file.
